


Awaiting Additional Anguish (or Triple A for short)

by GomorrahHillsides (Within_N_Without)



Series: Autocorrect [7]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Aftermath of Violation, Anxiety, Downward Spiral, Hurt Danny "Danno" Williams, M/M, Worried Steve McGarrett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-04-21 10:07:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 36,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14282616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Within_N_Without/pseuds/GomorrahHillsides
Summary: In this, the final part to this series :Physically, Danny's free and clear of Delano, who is in jail, and Wo Fat, who is also in jail.Mentally, though...the news is less than good.He's always had problems with anxiety. For all that he's good under pressure, once the pressure is gone, Danny's left adrift in a lake filled with both big and small sanity-eating Anguish Fish.If the aftermath of the different levels of violation he suffered at Delano's hands isn't enough, it's the little things that are pushing him towards the bottom of a downward spiral. Doris being shady, Lori flirting, Steve taking risks, Rachel throwing unexpected news at him...Let's just say, Danny's getting so bombarded on all sides by Anguish Fish, he's starting to drown.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Story So Far:  
> \- Danny told Steve about the time travel  
> \- Danny let his brother get arrested  
> \- Danny and Steve started a (so far) PG relationship  
> \- Jenna has arrived  
> \- Wo Fat has been captured  
> \- Danny made a fake deal with Wo Fat hoping to make the man target him instead of Steve  
> \- Danny told Steve about Doris  
> \- Wo Fat was arrested and carted off by the FBI  
> \- Steve went to see Doris  
> \- Lori joined Five-0, Jameson's still in office, Cath knows what's what, Rachel asked Danny to be the sperm-donor, and Doris is in Hawaii  
> \- A mysterious caller told Danny to show up alone in Waimanalo for the exchange – 10 million for the information Wo Fat wants  
> \- No one showed up for the exchange. A few days later, Danny fell into Delano's clutches at, of all places, the police station. Drugging and violation ensued. Steve to the rescue. But Danny was unconscious at the end and Steve wouldn't tell him what Delano did. 
> 
>  
> 
> ** NOTE ** Yes, this is a chapter story. I started writing this and thought, huh....this is going to take me a while given all the things in my outline. So, the choice was long wait for full part, or much smaller waits for increments of this, our final part. Since the second option motivates me more, voila! Chapter story :)

Danny's resolve to be more optimistic lasts about as long as some people's New Year resolutions. Which is to say, it's over before it's even begun. 

It's not that he doesn't want to be optimistic. If he could manage it, there'd be so many benefits – reduced stress, fewer sleepless nights, improved mood, and on and on. But, admittedly, Danny doesn't know how to react to bad things in a healthy way. 

So, when he comes home from the hospital and the first serious conversation he tries to have with Steve about the circumstances he found Danny in goes poorly, all his earlier resolve evaporates beneath the heat of his pronounced irritation.

"Why won't you tell me? It can't be that bad. Otherwise...they would've performed a rape kit." 

"Come on, Danno, you  _just_ got out of the hospital. You're still drained from the electricity and the drugs and your usual insomnia. Give it a day or two – "

"It's already  _been_ two days, Steven! I'm going to know eventually. Do you really want me to find out at Delano's trial or get blindsided when some reporter puts it on the news? Wouldn't you rather be the one to tell me?" 

"I call foul. That's a cheap argument," Steve says trying to lighten the mood. 

"Please, Steve," Danny implores. 

But instead of caving, Steve gathers him into a warm hug. 

It's more effort than it's worth to resist the comfort of the embrace. Danny doesn't even try. Just leans in and squeezes back, his grip as tight as his anxiety.

One of Steve's large hands travels up his back to squeeze the nape of his neck as he nuzzles into Danny's hair. "Look, Danny, you've been through something traumatic. You just got home. I want you to take some time to heal –"

"No, you are not fucking sidelining me on top of all this sh – "

"Hey, shh, relax Danno. I'm not going to argue with you about work. I get if you need the distraction. I just mean, when you're  _not_ at work, spend the time on doing the things you enjoy and let me handle the fallout from Delano."

Thank Christ – Steve seems to misinterpret Danny's stiff posture for stubbornness. Danny wants to ask about that fallout, to demand an active role, but he's frozen by the memory of Delano hushing him. A shiver of revulsion travels up his spine, but what's more worrying is the fragmented panic that makes his hands seize over Steve's biceps, clutching tight. 

"Everything okay, Danno?" Steve asks, flexing his arms pointedly. 

"Yeah, I'm just...glad you found me so fast. Delano was planning my funeral as soon as he had the go-ahead."

There's no room between them, but Steve tries to pull him tighter, closer than physically possible. "I'm so fucking grateful that he found you at the station. Anywhere else and he could've killed you on the spot, without worrying about the logistics of carrying out a murder in a building crawling with cops and littered with cameras." 

"No point thinking about it now," Danny says, forcing his mind away from memories of that night by focusing on Steve. 

Honestly, it's a wonder how one man could become so integrally important. 

That he crossed paths with this pushy Neanderthal animal and ended up losing a huge chunk of his heart to Steve, on some level, still shocks him. Of all the places he thought he'd end up in life, living in Hawaii and in love with a Navy SEAL, are both things a twenty-year-old Danny Williams could've never pictured for himself. 

"Love you," Steve mumbles into his hair, as if he's listening on the frequency of Danny's thoughts. 

Danny chuckles, but his eyes leak at the same time.

Feeling the wet heat against his shirt, Steve pads the tears away. "Shh, Danno, I've got you. Delano's in jail. You're safe," he whispers.

But whispers all sound pretty similar and again Danny feels his body seize. He has to blink away the blur and focus on Steve's face to calm down. It takes so much fucking effort to get Delano out of his head. It's not fair. 

He doesn't even know what Delano did. And he can't be fucking flinching at things that are supposed to provide comfort. If for no other reason than the fact that little Charlie is officially on his way. There's going to be a little, squalling infant around in less than a year. And every time Charlie will cry, people will naturally hush him. 

This revulsion can't still be in his head by the time that happens. 

It's just a sound. Short and innocent. It's such a little thing. Getting over it should be a piece of cake. 

And yet...even when it's Steve, he flinches.

Goddammit. 

With that, any notion of trying to be more optimistic flies right out the window. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SONGS I FOUND RECENTLY: 
> 
> AJR - Burn the House Down  
> AViVA - GRRRLS  
> Speed - Don't tease me  
> Shanguy - La Louze  
> Jacksepticeye / shmoyoho - What is my Life

Fine. 

If Steve won't tell him what Delano did...well, there's other ways of finding out. Since there's going to be a trial, there has to be official documentation, including Steve's report of what he walked in on. 

The prosecutor, however, isn't forthcoming when Danny goes to request the report. 

"Seriously? Why won't you show me? I already gave you my statement, so it's not like his account is going to corrupt my testimony. And, it'll all come out at trial anyways. Don't you think I deserve to know what happened to me?" Danny's not yelling. Really, he's not. 

"No," Akamu Kama says, and the resentful fucker looks absolutely gleeful that he gets to deny him. Whether he's got beef with Danny personally, or Five-0, the man's on a power trip, no question. 

Fine. If the prosecutor won't tell him, there are still other ways to find out. 

After all, this is the digital age. With the blessed push to be Greener, all reports are digital. And he knows some digitally-gifted people. 

"Think you can hack it?" 

Hands hovering over the keyboard, Toast fidgets in his chair. "Look, man, are you sure you want to do this? I mean, if McGarrett doesn't want to tell you, he probably has a good reason." 

Danny's glare is answer enough. 

"Suite yourself," Toast mutters, and gets to work. 

For half an hour, Danny paces through Toast's apartment as slowly as his raw nerves allow, trying not to wake Bullwinkle, who apparently fell asleep in the middle of eating a huge bowl of cereal on the living room couch. The game he was playing flickers occasionally with movement as the main character, or avatar, or whatever the hell's the right word for it, completes a stationary walk cycle. 

Suddenly, a lollipop hits him in the shoulder. He barely catches it before it can crack against the hardwood floor. "You know, you're getting a little too familiar," Danny chastises, although only half-serious, as he lobs the sucker back at him. 

Letting it land in his lap, Toast leans back and says, lazily, "If you're worried, maybe you should visit me less often." 

"Maybe. Or, maybe you should join Five-0?" 

With a dry laugh, Toast says, "I'm not a cop." 

"You wouldn't be out in the field." Danny manages not to wince as the memory surfaces of the time they did ask Toast to go undercover, and just how much of a disaster that had been. "You'd be a consultant, doing the same things we've asked you to do, except you'd be getting paid in money instead of candy." 

Toast blinks at him. "Is this a real offer?" 

"No, I'm asking if you're interested enough for me to try and make it a real offer?" 

Toast shrugs, noncommittally, but there's definitely interest there. 

"I'll look into it and let you know," Danny promises, clapping the kid on the shoulder. "So, you done?" Skimming across the three screens, he's not sure what he's looking for. 

"Yeah," Toast says and, with obvious pride, starts to describe how he did it. 

Danny lets the kid talk, nodding where appropriate, until finally Toast presents him with a flash drive. 

"You do have a computer, right?" 

"Har, har. You're hilarious." 

"Great. Since they're illegally obtained government documents, I encrypted them. The password is the serial number on the side of the drive. After you're done looking through them, delete the files and run the memory sweeper. It's the only other file in there. Ends in exe. You just have to click on it." 

"It's not going to delete my whole computer, right?" Danny asks, holding the flash drive with reflexive delicacy, as if it's something dangerous. 

"Nah. Just the files I created. The executable's designed to follow the pointer of the encrypted file down to memory and overwrite the storage blocks with pictures of unicorns. Just don't rename the files, or move them from the folder, or – " 

"Okay, don't change anything. Got it. Thanks," he says, leaving with a wave before Toast can bombard him with any more techno babble.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very random note because I love sharing recent obsessions. 
> 
> I have recently discovered the wonder that is the friction erasable pen. Bought one by accident while on vacation in Poland back in January. Tried looking on Amazon for more, but the choices were meh. Boring, standard office-looking pens. Then I found a LOT of options on a different site. Don't know why, by Asia seems to make some of the coolest pens. 
> 
> (Don't judge, but parent-acquired childhood nostalgia mandated that I get a set with Moomins on them.)
> 
> Yes, my obsession is stationary.

As soon as Danny opens the file, he knows Steve's left stuff out.

The report isn't long enough. Details are missing. He's sure of it. If the truth were as simple as what's been typed up, then Steve would've told him the truth all the way back at the hospital. 

With a sigh, Danny wracks his brain for another way to acquire the information. 

Of course, there's the nuclear option – forcing Steve to complete the report through legal means. If he tells the prosecutor there are details missing, mentions his suspicions and Steve's evasive behavior, they'll probably bring Steve in to give his account again. 

Two problems though. 

One, Steve's a stubborn asshole. No way would he give them any more than he has already. 

And two, Danny would never go for the nuclear option. 

But as far as other options go? None of them are good.

He could try convincing Kono or Chin to give up the information, which would put them in an awkward position. 

He could sneak into Steve's office, rifle through his desk on the off chance he wrote any of the details down. Which he probably didn't. 

He could also go visit Delano in jail – yes, in jail, because attempted murder and multiple counts related to the misuse of his position as an HPD Detective have raised the price of his bail astronomically – and ask him for the details. A braggart of Delano's ilk might find the possibility of humiliating Danny enticing enough to ignore the fact that everything he says is being monitored, recorded, and will likely be used against him in court. After all, last time around, he found a way out of jail by putting their ohana in jeopardy. For a man like him, there's always another way out, so he might be willing to blow one of them up for the pleasure of seeing Danny squirm.

But he doesn't want to see Delano. And the man's more likely to lie and overexaggerate than give Danny answers. 

The only real option is to confront Steve outright – show him the files and ask him about the missing details. Which means admitting to his less-than-legal snooping and risking an epic argument. 

Going without answers, though, is no longer an option. Every time he looks in the mirror, he looks for clues in the marks on his skin. In the dark hours of the night, his mind conflates vivid scenes from the cases he's worked and leaves him wondering if any part of the scenario seems personally familiar. He talks to victims throughout the week and wonders if he looked like them when Steve found him in the basement. 

Yup, this can no longer wait.

Gathering his courage, he approaches Steve in his office, because he doesn't want this conversation tainting their home. 

"It's been longer than two days. You ready to tell me yet?" Danny asks first, figuring Steve deserves the chance to give up the information on his own.

Steve hums vaguely. "Hey, Danno, how are you feeling?"

"Restless and tired of getting the runaround from you, of all people. Look, Steven, I appreciate that you're keeping secrets in a misguided attempt to protect me, but you're being incredibly hypocritical right now, babe. Admit it - if our positions were reversed, you would've demanded an answer immediately and it would've been world war 3 until I gave in." 

Blessedly, Steve does wince. 

At least this isn't news to him. It's the times when Steve's convinced he's right that things get ugly. There's no talking to him when he decides the ends justify the means. Or...is that still true? Danny definitely doesn't want to test it, but it's worth considering. Has Steve changed enough that he wouldn't make a unilateral decision if there was time to talk about it? 

His sigh is heavy. Pulling Danny further into his office, Steve closes the door. "I didn't want to say anything until I had better news." The soft, careful way he says it gives Danny goosebumps. 

"What news? I don't get it. Delano's in jail. Was there someone else involved? What – "

"Shh, Danno. Stop trying to guess." 

Dammit. Danny can't help his flinch at getting hushed. And, what's worse, this time Steve sees it. 

"Wha – "

"No." Danny chops a hand through the air. "We're not talking about this. One conversation at a time." 

With a growl, Steve relents, but he visibly makes a mental note to address Danny's reaction later. Then, stealing a breath, Steve admits, "I walked in on a photo shoot." 

Danny cocks an eyebrow. The request for more information is implied.

"He had you posed suggestively on the floor and was taking pictures with his phone. You...weren't fully dressed. 

Shuddering in disgust, Danny sidesteps Steve's reaching hand. "Better news," he repeats, this time with an inkling of what Steve meant. "He'd already posted some of the photos before you got there," he guesses. 

Rubbing his scalp in frustration, Steve says, "Yeah. Chin's doing his best to track down all the sites and take them down, but it's the internet and this kind of thing is kind of beyond him. Our next stop is Toast, but only if you're okay with him seeing – " Steve cuts off assuming Danny's gets the gist of it. 

"What sites?" Danny asks, faintly, trying to wrap his mind around the thought that  _naked_ photos of him are out there in the vast digital world. There's potentially  _millions_ of people out there who have a better idea of what Delano did to him in the hours he can't remember than he does. 

"Danny – "

"What sites?!" 

Steve shifts from foot to foot, jaw clenching with renewed fury at Delano. "A few mainstream porn sites, but we're more concerned about the posts he made on the Dark Web. Seems like he opened a bidding." 

"He was going to sell me? Fuck, did he  _identify_ me?" Imagining the possible consequences, Danny's horror mounts. What does this mean? Are people going to be coming after him? Or what if Rachel finds out about the porn sites? Would she try to take away his custody?

It's only when he feels Steve engulf him in a hug that he realizes he's hyperventilating. 

"Shh, relax Danno, we're on this." Steve must feel Danny's violent flinch because his muscles tense and he starts again with, "Wha – "

"You should hire Toast as a consultant," Danny interrupts, squeezing Steve tight before letting go. "He's a reliable guy and his skills keep coming in handy. We could use a more experienced tech guy on the team." 

Steve doesn't let go right away, reluctance in his every breath. Finally, though, his arms relax and slide down to cup Danny's elbows as he pulls away. "Think he'd accept an offer? He'd have to work a drug-free 9-to-5 schedule." 

Taking incremental steps towards the door, Danny shrugs. "All you can do is make the offer. If he says no, we're no worse off than we were before."

Forced to either let go or trail after him as Danny steps out of range, Steve drops his arms. "Sure, I'll bring it up when I talk to him about the photos, provided you're okay with looping him in?"

"How bad are the photos?" Danny asks, quietly. 

The way Steve's face cringes is answer enough. 

"Motherfu – " Biting his fist, Danny takes another step back, close enough to the door to open it. "Loop him in," he says hoarsely, "but give him a choice. And tell him if he ever treats me any different, I'll skin him alive and drop him in a vat of radioactive spiders. Also, thanks for keeping that shit out of the report." 

Before he can escape to the sanctuary of his own office, Steve stops him with a meaningful twitch. 

"What?" Danny asks, exhausted.

"Just...do you want to see them? The photos?" Steve asks hoarsely, like it pains him to even provide the option.

Danny quickly shakes his head, "No, not right now," and flees.


	4. Chapter 4

It's one thing to give up on optimism, but it's another thing entirely to give into pessimism. 

Pessimism is a spiral, with several stages before you hit bottom, where ultimately depression awaits. Usually, Danny floats somewhere in the middle of the spiral and on good days, he nearly surfaces at the top, almost able to believe the fragments of happiness in his life will last for more than the short-term. He's only seen the bottom a few times in his life and can say with certainty that it's never been the same twice. 

The depression he slipped into after the dissolution of his marriage was wholly different from the one he experienced after Matty's execution and everything that led up to it. And neither one compared to the pit he was dropped into with Steve's death. 

Admittedly, Delano's injected some turmoil into his life. 

Things he hasn't faced before.  

For all that he'd often been the shortest kid on the playground or out on the baseball diamond, or even as a man, graduating from the Police Academy, he'd never felt humiliated by the ribbing and the teasing. Especially since anyone who tried to slight him found himself fighting the front lines of a verbal World War III. 

He's been shot but has never felt like a victim.

He's been manhandled by perps but he's never felt so violated. 

He can't wrap his mind around his own feelings. They feel deformed in his head. Too big, messed up, mismatched in proportion to the situation. He can't comprehend the perpetual disgust that crawls beneath his skin. 

He feels too old for this.

And, it's the oddest thing, but he can't shake his own standards. If he was confronted by a victim who went through the same thing he did, he'd have sympathy for them. The psychology of this kind of violation doesn't baffle him. He gets why someone would feel unclean, exposed, frustrated, or scared – particularly with the Dark Web bullshit. 

(Apparently, two parties submitted bids. Toast assures him the bit coin price on his head – or is it his body? - is significantly high.) 

But, for himself, he has no sympathy.

It isn't a big deal.

He reminds himself that he's dealt with worse, because certainly near-death experiences and losing the people he loves are worse fates than being felt up and photographed. Fuck, those things shouldn't even rate. He just needs to suck it up and get over it. 

In any case, he's nowhere near depression. He's just having a string of bad days. Yeah, that's it. He's fine. 

Although, it's funny how little things add up. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny's sure he's nowhere near depression. He's just having a string of bad days. Yeah, that's it. He's fine. 
> 
> Although, it's funny how little things add up.

Little things like Doris being shady.

It's surreal to think that, in some very specific ways, Danny knows Steve's mother better than Steve does. 

For instance, he recognizes the sugary tone and complimentary sweetness she likes to use just before she gets him to do her a favor. And, of course, she won't ask outright. Instead, she'll leave him clues enough to figure out what she wants, with the expectation that Steve's seemingly inborn sense of honor and duty will drive him to offer – if not outright demand – a participatory role in her schemes. 

Danny sees the signs way before Steve even has an inkling. 

The way she starts singing his praises, calling him a "good son," stopping by just to recount a few stories from his childhood, and gifting Steve with nostalgic bits and bobbles from her newlywed days – it's all leading up to some major project. 

But just because he knows her game doesn't mean he knows what to do about it. His first instinct is to confront her, but last time, the direct approach had made Doris defensive and they'd quickly ended up pitted against each other. 

He's too tired to be at odds with Doris. Though he's largely devoid of optimism, there are things he knows about himself that make him expect a certain kind of future. 

For instance, in this relationship with Steve, it won't be him to let go. He's in this until Steve asks him not to be, and the only way he'll listen is if Steve's reasons aren't self-sacrificial. Unfortunately, Steve's the type of person who feels the need to protect everyone. There's a real danger of him one day telling Danny to pack up because someone's targeting him. 

Anyways, point being, he's in for the long haul and long hauls come with in-laws. For all that his marriage ended over a decade ago, he still vividly remembers what it was like to live in the disfavor of Rachel's parents. 

The snips and jabs at every holiday gathering, the looks, the immediate blame for everything wrong in their marriage – he has no doubt that Rachel's mother had handed her the nails and encouraged her to hammer them into the coffin their marriage had been resting in for some time. 

He wants something better with Doris. Not just because it's exhausting, but also for Steve's sake. He deserves a real mother. Not just a CIA agent who showers him with temporary affection between missions. 

Doris, he suspects, doesn't know how to be a mother to her adult son. She misses the mark by oscillating between treating him like her little boy, to be protected and kept in the dark, and treating him like another operative, at her disposal for dangerous missions. 

Danny still can't tell what causes the swings from one to the other. 

For now, he doesn't know how to make her stop the swing in the middle and doesn't know her well enough to decide on an approach. The few speeches he mentally rehearses all sound either patronizing or fault-finding. 

The best he can do is sweep the clues before Steve notices them or distract him away before he figures out what they mean. Not too hard a task with Danny's motor mouth and the way they spend 98% of their time together.

So, when Doris leaves a downtown hotel receipt on their coffee table, despite the fact she's renting a lovely two-bedroom house a few blocks over, Danny throws it out.

When he spots Doris at one of their crime scenes making what would be a calm, reasonably stealthy getaway if Five-0 wasn't working the case, he steers the team away to talk to HPD before they can spot her in the rubbernecking crowd. 

When she lets him walk in on her while she's on the phone with a Yakuza and then abruptly ends the call, he just compliments her fluency, rambling about how he'd hated dealing with mobsters back in Jersey because every group spoke a different language, and "don't get me started on dialects." 

Doris is CIA. 

Despite the long time she'd spent deactivated, she's not careless. 

Danny knows her skills are still sharp. He can tell her missteps are purposeful.

Just as she can tell his silence and lack of curiosity is also purposeful.

A few times, she looks prepared to ask him about it, but the question never comes. And so the grating game of redirecting Steve's attention continues. 

Long live the status quo? 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny's sure he's nowhere near depression. He's just having a string of bad days. Yeah, that's it. He's fine.
> 
> Although, it's funny how little things add up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone know Shah Rukh Khan? Well, if you watch Bollywood, I'm pretty sure you have to. He's in so many. If you were wondering how I spent my weekend, it was on happy, cheerful things.
> 
> Although , curse you Netflix for taking away Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi. I wanted to rewatch it. I remember that, first time I watched it, I honestly didn't recognize Shah Rukh Khan as the partially-derp mustache man. I have no idea why.

Little things like Steve's antics. 

"No, Steve, we are not rushing into the warehouse. Backup will be here any minute. Just please,  _please_ wait this time!" Danny shouts to be heard over the sporadic sprays of gunfire.

For a glorious one hundred and forty seconds, Steve looks resigned, leaning a little heavier on his haunches where he's crouched behind a dumpster, changing his center of gravity from spring-ready to wait-and-see stable. 

He manages to ignore the volleys of gunfire with nary a twitch, and the insults and taunts that are shouted at them roll off his shoulders, but then a woman screams from inside and Steve pops up like a startled rabbit and launches himself through a broken, shard-toothed window. 

A window, as luck would have it, that's too high for Danny to reach. There are crates in the distance, but they're too far away. He doesn't have the minute and a half to spare to go get them. 

Cursing, he races in the other direction, towards the nearest door.

Locked. 

So, he keeps running. 

"What's going on?" Kono asks over the radio as gunfire blasts the channel.

Steve must be accidentally activating the push-to-talk feature on his comm. 

Outside, Danny can't hear the screaming woman anymore, but then Steve's mic comes on and she screams one more time, before those screams turn into gleeful cackles. 

Fuck, she'd done it on purpose, to lure them inside! 

Gritting his teeth and swallowing his fury, Danny focuses on the things he can control this minute. "Steve's in the warehouse – just giraffe-leg hurdle-jumped through the window; I'm looking for a way to follow him," he says, rounding the building. "ETA?" 

"Eight minutes," Chin says over the sirens and start-stop roar of his motor cycle as he maneuvers around traffic, tone bleak. 

"Ten-Four." 

On this side of the building, Danny finds a row of windows and a couple of doors. He stoops low and takes a careful peak through the glass. Inside is an office with a view out onto the warehouse floor. 

From what Danny can tell, most of the lights in the warehouse have either been turned off or shot out, and it's dark as fuck beneath the looming shadows of the huge iron shelves and the wares they hold. People-shaped shadows lurk between boxes on the lower shelves and one or two seem to have climbed them to higher ground. Either that or person-shaped stuffed animals are arranged at random locations throughout the storage space in hunched positions. Carrying guns. 

Danny's firearm is essentially useless until he finds Steve. Separated like this, there's a danger that Steve might shoot him and vice versa. Hoping against hope that Steve will hear him in his earpiece over the deafening noise of gunfire, he announces his intention to enter the building. 

"Don't! It's a shit show," Steve replies instantly.

"I'm not asking! Just tell me your position so I don't accidentally shoot you in the dark."

"As soon as you open the door, it'll attract everyone's attention. You're going to get shot!" Steve's growl is nearly drowned out in another round of gunfire. 

"Okay, how 'bout this? I'll open the door as a distraction, you do something useful with the couple of seconds," Danny proposes, running back to his car that's thankfully parked on this side of the building.

Throwing open the trunk, Danny pulls from the floor of the surprisingly large space one of the small, one-handed, bulletproof riot shields.

As he's running back, over the channel, Danny says, "Be ready. On the count of three."  He tries the doorknob and it's indeed unlocked. He'd been prepared to shoot it off if it wasn't. 

"Ten-four," Steve replies, resignation in his voice. 

"One." Danny crouches down, to fit better behind the shield. 

"Two." Dammit. He should've taken the helmet from the trunk. Too late now.

"Three." He throws open the door with a bang. 

Immediately, he feels the ricochet of bullets as they ping with heavy force against his shield from a few separate directions. He has to hold on with two hands against the onslaught or else risk the thing tipping in a direction that would uncover him to the volleys. 

"What the hell are you doing standing in the doorway!" Steve's shouting in his earpiece, "What the f – " before he cuts out with a pained grunt.

"Steve?! STEVE! You okay?!" 

Before Steve can answer, the HPD sirens finally become audible off in the distance. No motorcycle roar yet. 

The gunfight ends with the fuckers splitting up and running through side doors, but there's nowhere for them to run. This lot is far from a forest or the ocean, and one of the first things Steve had done when they'd gotten on-site was to slash a tire on each of the two flashy vehicles parked beneath the shade of a covered pallet. 

One asshole tries to come up on Danny from the side while he's holding off what seems like a single shooter. 

Coming from behind, Steve shoots him through the calf before he can properly aim at an area on Danny not covered by TAC vest. 

"How many are left?" Danny asks over the pained moans, as Steve picks up the dropped gun and steps over the goon.

"You might want to keep pressure on that," Steve says absentmindedly, though his eyes are fixed on Danny, meticulously conducting a visual scan for injuries.

Danny takes the opportunity to do the same, honing in on the twin marks on Steve's vest where he absorbed the bullet impact. The positioning makes it clear that if one of the perps had been carrying armor-piercing rounds, Steve would've been done for. 

As soon as they're done handing over the task of chasing down and arresting the remaining members of the deadly group, Steve drags Danny over to the car, where they won't be in the way.

"Stop patting me," Danny says, swatting Steve's hands.

Steve just spins him around and slides his hands along the line of his back.

"I am wearing a white shirt, Steven! Obviously, I'm not injured," Danny says, irritated. 

"I told you not to come inside." 

"And I didn't! All I did was stand in the doorway. Besides, I'm not the one who jumped through a window with no warning and not even the basic backup a partner provides and then ended up shot." Saying it out loud gets Danny riled again. 

"I mean, what the hell were you thinking?! The rule is that we work together, not that you go all Dirty Harry to fight the bad guys alone. I swear on all that is good and just in the world, if you make me witness your death or its aftermath for a …" Danny looks around and whispers for just Steve's ears, " for a second time," and then he's shouting again, "I will make sure you get a sky burial in fucking Tibet and I will wait for however long it takes for the vultures to eat your remains and shit you out, just so I can put a plaque wherever they happen to defecate that says 'Here lies Steven J. McGarrett in his truest embodiment because his recklessness may have cost him his life, but it's his friends who'll have to sit around depressed and eternally racked with guilt because surely they could've done more to save him, not to mention the heartbreak he's caused his fam –"

Danny stops ranting because he's too busy trying to struggle out of Steve's arms. It's kinda hard though, what with the stupid way Steve hugs, with a hand on the nape of his neck and a ridiculously long arm wrapped securely around Danny's waist. And because the fucker's so tall, he's also sort of hunched around Danny, cocooning him in his embrace. 

"Believe me, Danny – I didn't mean to go through that window. I was up and over before I'd even finished processing why I was doing it, let alone why I  _shouldn't_ be doing it." 

At least he sounds honestly apologetic.  

But...

"I'm not buying it," Danny says into Steve's shoulder, wondering faintly if biting Steve to secure his release would be a step too far. "If this was the Navy, you wouldn't be jumping into whatever situation strikes your fancy." 

Steve leans away just enough to look at Danny, expression confused.

Danny tries pulling away further but his grip's still too tight to escape without an embarrassing struggle.

"This isn't the Navy, Danno."

"Yes! I know that! What's your point?"

"The reflexes at play are different." 

"Different how?" 

"If you're following orders, you do what you can within the parameters you've been given, but when you're leading a team you take the greatest risks onto yourself, unless it's not in your skillset, you think of strategies, and you improvise when situations change. But you're right. At the very least, I owed you a heads up, or I could've though of an alternative. The reason I didn't...well, it's stupid." 

"Are you just placating me? You don’t sound very certain," Danny snaps. 

"No! Of course no – "

"Then let's hear this reason!" Danny waves him on.

Sheepishly, Steve admits, "You know that screaming woman? I thought it was...," he cringes and says, low enough that Danny almost doesn't hear, "Doris." 

Doris. Not mom. 

"Why did you think it was her?" Danny asks, carefully.

Steve's smirk is a little self-deprecating. "I wish I could say I picked up on the ways she was trying to manipulate me but, to be honest, I was clueless. It wasn't until you started visibly cringing whenever she brought up the past and actively diverting me away from her whenever she took a call at our place that I realized that she's one of my blind spots. She's not as 'out of commission' as I thought she was, huh?"

"I don't know for certain, but sure looks like it to me." 

"Which is why I thought it might've been her. I just...keep expecting her around every corner, doing something dangerous."

"Did you put her under surveillance?" Danny asks, his anger fizzling away. Unfortunately, he's pretty sure Doris is always going to be a chink in Steve's armor. He's no longer surprised at Steve's reaction. He understands just how much Steve doesn't want to lose her again. 

"No, do you think I should?"

"Please, don't. She's a grown woman. The sooner you learn to have important, open conversations with her, the better." 

"And it probably needs to be sooner, huh? Let me guess, she wants my help with a mission?"

"I think so, but how'd you reach that conclusion? Have you seen evidence that she's active again?" 

"No. I've been going off your reactions. Recently, your guards have been way up around her. Your laugh sounds fake and your eyes go cold whenever you two cross paths. Only reason I can think of that you'd be worried about her is if you thought she was either going to leave again, or if she was going to drag us into danger. Most likely a mission, given her CIA background." 

"Drag  _us_?" Danny asks, heart beating double time. 

The perplexed look on Steve's face is a beautiful thing. Especially when it's underscored with the confident way he says, "Yeah, us. Anything I do affects the rest of our family."

Danny spends a moment gaping at him before he throws his arms around Steve's neck and pulls him close. Maybe it's a weird thing to be overjoyed about, but it makes his heart soar to hear that, at the very least, Steve gets it. 

Without prompting or reminder, here he is, remembering that he can't just silently disappear like Rambo into jungles unknown on secret one-man missions. And, that if he chooses to do so, he's aware that it'll hurt the people who love him. For the first time, Danny truly believes that Steve won't just leave on a mission for Doris without discussing it with him. 

It's a massive load off his shoulders, which means he doesn't buckle beneath the guilty weight of Chin and Kono's disapproving glares and different versions of, "You two are suicidal idiots who deserve each other," speeches once they find them in the chaos of the warehouse scene.

Although the mountain of paperwork that awaits them back at the office might do him in. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny's sure he's nowhere near depression. He's just having a string of bad days. Yeah, that's it. He's fine.  
> Although, it's funny how little things add up.
> 
> Little things like Doris being shady.  
> Little things like Steve's antics.   
> Little things like ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for anyone who commented or left a kudos! I'll be getting to replies sometime this week.   
> Gosh, there's so much left to this part.   
> For anyone who's wondering as to the structure, there's three...steps? phases? Things and Stuff  
> We are currently in Step/Phase/Stuff 1. Only midway through.

Little things like Lori's flirting. 

Because Danny's determined to reward fool stunts with appropriate consequences, he makes Steve submit to a hospital checkup, ignoring the glares and grumbles Steve aims at him. 

For once, the doctor confirms that Steve's being honest when he says he's fine. 

"The contusions on your chest are relatively minor compared to what I'm used to seeing in these cases," Doctor Iona tells Steve, as he fills out a prescription for bruise cream. 

Rolling his eyes, Steve stuffs the form into one of his lower cargo pants pockets. 

When they finally get back to the office, everyone's already gathered in the bull pen, waiting for them. 

Chin and Kono don't look particularly worried since they'd been at the scene and are used to Steve's bullshit.  

Lori, however, attaches herself to Steve's side like a lamprey and refuses to be shucked off.

Or, okay, it's not as bad as all that. 

Lori's not a moron. She's got some game so she plays it cool, teasing Steve lightly as she fetches him an ice pack and offers to make tea. 

With a calculating glint in his eye, Steve plays along in the clumsiest, most unsubtle way possible. "Is that a new perfume you're wearing? No? Well, it's weird that I never noticed it before. It's such a crisp, refreshing scent. Oh, by the way, how was your meeting with the Governor? Did she seem nervous about the trial?"

Yes, it's really that cringe-worthy.

Smooth dog, indeed. Danny should've known from the start that Steve's call sign had to do with his super powers.

But still, from a distance, when you can't hear the dialog being exchanged, or if you're not paying enough attention to see the way Steve leans away from Lori every time she reaches out to lightly touch his arm, or his shoulder, or to pat his knee...it's not the most pleasant thing to watch. 

Unable to stomach the show, Danny barricades himself in his office, blinds down as he rummages through his storage container of strange, memory-inducing objects – mostly toys. His memory toy chest. 

Not that this task is likely to be any less harrowing. 

The universe is a cruel bitch.

With all the changes Danny's injected into the original timeline, it's fucked up that as far as gambling on sports teams goes, Danny's "predictions" are still right on the money 95% of the time. They're still making bank when they have the spare moment between gunfights and grizzly crime scenes to place bets.

But when it comes to saving people, a small, but sizeable number of ziplocked bags are...past expiration date. 

He transfers them over to his bottom desk drawer and one or two into the pockets of his jacket for later perusal. Maybe there's still something he can do. Check in on the people or the locations, keep a finger on the pulse of these crimes uncommitted. Because if he happens to neglect to follow up with a potential case and it ends up happening, just on a different date...the very thought is enough to drive him nuts.

He's an adult, well aware that Life's not kind or fair. Doesn't stop him from wishing he could shuck the burden of the ziplocked bags and all the feelings that come with them. The weight of responsibility on his shoulders hadn't ever been this heavy.  

Yes, people are free to make their own decisions. Danny's not arrogant enough to think every new case is his fault, every new victim is a direct result of his actions. 

But feelings aren't bound by logic. 

It may not be his fault that some greedy monster burns down an occupied apartment building for the insurance money or that a little girl gets murdered by a perp he doesn't recognize, but damn does he feel sick with guilt, wondering if there's a price tag attached to his second chance. 

A knock on the door startles him into dropping a toy soldier and a plastic maneki neko back into the storage container. 

"Hey, Lori's doing a lunch run. What are you having?" Kono asks.

"I'm not hungry," Danny snaps. Blessedly, his stomach doesn't give him away with a growl. He's too irritated to accept any favors from Lori, particularly when they're intended for Steve.

"Whoa, you okay, brah?"

"Yeah, sorry babe, I just need to cool off. Someday, I'm going to get a heart attack working with that nutcase." 

Kono hums, unconvinced. "You don't like Lori," she tests. 

Apparently, the bland look he shoots her is believable enough to make her hesitate, visibly reassessing until Danny sighs. "Chin doesn't like her either. Albeit for different reasons." 

"You mean, because she's the Governor's spy?"

"Oh...yeah, probably," Danny says, although his thoughts are over a decade in the past. Back then, it hadn't seemed like Chin had liked her either, even though they'd had no reason to be wary of Denning. Looking back, Danny has no idea what had developed Chin's distaste for partnering with her. Had he felt like she was replacing his cousin? After all, they'd been so busy putting out fires, they'd hardly made a dent into solving how to get Kono back onto the force. Or maybe he'd been worried about losing his own job? Or was he Irritated by her impatience? Suspicious of her almost instantaneous attachment to Steve? 

Or had Danny read too much in Chin's cool demeanor altogether, due to his own bias? 

"Why don't you guys just tell her?" 

"Tell her what?" Danny asks, distracted. 

"That you're together. She probably wouldn't flirt if she knew." 

"If we tell her, it probably won't be long before Jameson knows. The information gets leaked, the press spread it around, and then we're at the mercy of public opinion, which may or may not come out in our favor. Next thing you know, we're all working night shifts as mall cops and hospital security." 

Shaking her head, Kono says, "Damn, brah, I'd hate to live in your head. Sounds like it's really dark in there." 

"You don't know the half of it." 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny's sure he's nowhere near depression. He's just having a string of bad days. Yeah, that's it. He's fine.  
> Although, it's funny how little things add up.
> 
> Little things like Doris being shady.  
> Little things like Steve's antics.   
> Little things like Lori's flirting.   
> Little things like ...

Little things like being stuck in teeny, tiny spaces. 

The number of cases that are brand new to Danny seem to be on the rise after Delano's arrest.

Case in point, Five-0 minus Chin, who stayed behind to man the tech table, is at the moment wandering around one of Oahu's numerous cave systems and lava tubes, trying to find the makeshift hideout of the group of young radicals who were behind the attempted bombing of the law offices of Bradley and Browning.

At the first major fork, Steve suggests, "We should split up."

Danny takes an obvious side-step towards Kono. 

Though he quirks a confused brow, Steve thankfully doesn't voice his question and says, "Lori, you're with me."

As soon as Steve and Lori are down the right-hand fork and out of earshot, Kono elbows him. "Why'd you do that?"

"What, you can't guess?" Danny asks, stalling for time because no way is he admitting to his irrational fear of enclosed spaces. The longer he's lived with it, the more he hates that it's a part of him. A weakness like that should remain unmentioned and, preferably, a secret. He doesn't plan to reveal it unless circumstances force the issue. 

Kono's still thinking when an appropriate answer comes to him.

Her guess comes a second later. "Lover's quarrel?" 

"No, Kalakaua, that would be unprofessional. Now, listen closely because this'll be useful when it comes time for you to lead your own taskforce."

"You think that's in my future?" Kono asks, hopeful.

"Without a doubt, babe. So, let's say you've got us four on your taskforce and you've got to split the group into teams for a divide and conquer strategy. If you're going into an unknown situation, what you want to do is balance the experience of your teams. You don't send two rookies off together, unless you've got a good reason. For instance, if one path's more dangerous maybe it makes sense to have two experienced members work together and have the rookies do things that aren't on the critical path. Like if you know one tunnel leads to a shootout with a mob boss and the other to a meadow full of healing herbs, the rookies get to pick herbs. In this case though, we don't know what's down either tunnel. Thus, balanced experience."

It's funny, but that might actually be the reason Steve hadn't argued. 

Although, calling Kono a rookie after a year of Five-0 cases is doing her a bit of a disservice. Five-0 time can be counted in dog years compared to HPD. A year is practically equivalent to a decade of regular island policework. It's strange to think that, if she'd have ended up at HPD, she'd probably still be writing parking tickets and catching traffic violators on the mean streets of Honolulu instead of chasing down would-be bombers in underground cave systems.

Fuck, but the tunnel is narrow.

And getting narrower. 

The ceiling at this point is low enough that his hair brushes the wet cave roof while Kono forges on ahead, her posture stooped. With each step, the walls come in closer, so that soon, two people couldn't walk side by side anymore. 

He hates everything about this situation. 

The dampness that makes his shoes squelch.

The darkness that only yields a few feet at a time to his Maglite. 

The big, honking rocks he keeps stubbing his toes on. 

The perpetual feeling that something is crawling on him or brushing against him. It's either his imagination or he's walking into a bunch of spider webs. 

He knows he's panting. It doesn't feel like there's enough air in the tight passage. His lungs are very dissatisfied with the experience. 

"You okay back there?" Kono asks, having resorted to a crouch. 

"Leg cramp," Danny wheezes.

"Need a break?"

"No, keep going. I'll catch up."

But the tunnel's still shrinking in on them.

Once Danny's forced to crouch, he realizes Kono must be on hands and knees further up the passage. "Hey, Kono, come back. This is ridiculous. No way are these kids hiding out in a crawlspace."

A frantic "sssh" echoes from seemingly every direction.

He's so startled that he drops his Mag.

Goddammit, he really needs to get over that. It's just a sound and yet, as he picks up the Mag with shaky fingers, his breathing is doubly worse. 

That's when he hears, "Arms in the air, hands where I can see them. All of you are under arrest."

Danny's first thought is,  _seriously_? Who chooses a literal hole for a hideout.

His second thought is,  _oh, shit_. 

The noises from up ahead do not sound like compliance, what with the raised voices and indecipherable shouting, 

Thankfully, in a crisis situation, his fears disappear. He may spend half his life worrying about one thing or another – some would argue, unnecessarily – but the other half of the time, when it counts, he regularly throws fear the middle finger.

Like when he landed the plane on the beach when Steve was bleeding out, or when he made himself a target for the Hookman in direct opposition of Steve's stupid, self-sacrificial plan, or when he went into North Korea and Afghanistan...and there were cases in Jersey too. 

Steve is not the single common factor! He's just always there when trouble arrives and Danny just happens to always be with him. 

But so, in this situation, with who knows what going on up ahead, Danny forgets the ridiculous tightness of his surroundings, focusing instead on the developing argument and crawling faster, because that's how low the way forward has become.

At the end of the straw-shaped tunnel is a surprisingly high-ceilinged cavern. He can barely shimmy his shoulders through the entrance, but as soon as he's through, he's got his gun raised and he's already circling the gang of six kids, coming up from behind them as Kono keeps their attention. He tries to radio Steve but all he hears is static. Apparently, they're on their own. 

The only positive aspect to this situation is that the kids are obviously intimidated, especially now that Kono's not lone-wolfing the arrest. 

Danny lets her lead, while he quickly scans their setup. It's obvious with minimal observation that theirs wasn't a well thought out scheme. Supplies and ingredients are scattered haphazardly throughout the space. Free-floating trash, half-eaten bags of chips, a few sleeping bags, and empty water bottles lay strewn about. The only neat corner of the cavern is where they'd set up a lamp, underneath which lays a copy of the Anarchist's Cookbook. 

As Kono herds the handcuffed little ne'er-do-wells to the tunnel entrance, he takes a picture of the scene with his camera phone.

"Um, Danny? How do we get them through the tunnel? Do we uncuff them?"

"No. They can slide through on their bellies until the passage expands. You go first, wait for them in a location you can stand up straight. I'll send them through staggered one-minute apart to avoid any accidental kicks in the face, tunnel blockages, etc." 

"You want to make them slide through that cave floor sludge? That's cold, brah," she teases.

"It'll wash away. Unlike the blood that would've been on their hands if the law offices had exploded," he says, directing the growled comment at his captive audience of teenagers, the oldest of whom doesn't seem old enough to vote. 

The trek back through the tunnel is still miserable, but it makes all the difference that they're traveling  _away_ from darkness, trapped air, and tight enclosures. 

Periodically, Danny tries the radio again, and even his cell phone, but Steve doesn't pick up and he and Lori aren't waiting for them when they finally reach daylight. 

"Tree-Ho!" Danny exclaims with relief. 

Grinning, Kono says, "I'll call HPD to come pick these gunky guys up." 

And once that's done, all eight of them are stuck sitting around, waiting for something to happen. 

Bored, Kono eventually sidles close and murmurs, "Did you ever get any answers about the time travel thing? Like why? Or, how?"

Matching her volume, Danny murmurs back, "I haven't had any revealing dreams. Nor did any spirits commune with me the purpose of my second chance. I made a list at one point of the usual suspects I could maybe ask – you know, shamans, priests, kahunas, monks, physicists, and their ilk. But they probably wouldn't know and, if they did, their answers would most likely lead to more questions. Then I realized I had neither the time nor the inclination to pursue it." 

"Seriously? You're not curious?"

"Frankly? I'm terrified.  _Not_ curious, but  _terrified_." Danny keeps his voice low as his hands speed up, gesturing wildly. "I mean,  _time travel_? That's crazy, right? It's more plausible that I'm in a coma or living out a personal delusion, because why would I have gotten the chance to live this part of my life over again? Especially with the suspicious timing. 

"I mean, first I'm neck-deep in grief and struggling to deal with it, and then suddenly I get transported to  _th_ _is_ part of my life – the one moment, early on, when both Steve and I were not seriously attached or dating, and we were solid enough friends that I once gave up the chance to rebuild my relationship with Rachel for him. 

"Maybe it makes me a coward, but I don't want to know what it means. It's enough that I feel real pain when something injures me. I don't get flashes of other realities or experience bizarre twilight zone moments, where suddenly everyone's talking gibberish or they've switched personalities or something. I can't describe to you the relief I feel at little everyday irritations or inconveniences, like traffic or coffee spills or burnt toast, because the more detailed my life is, the more I feel safe in believing in it."

Kono's expression clearly indicates that his answer is unexpected. "Wow, I'm sorry, Danny. That all sounds really heavy." 

Yes, this line of questioning is exhausting, but Danny doesn't want to quit the conversation on such a low note because then Kono will end up worrying about it, which is not what he wants. So, he asks her, "If you were given a chance to pick a time to go back to, what part of your life would you choose?" 

It's a softball question. 

Danny figures she'll choose something to do with the pro-surfing career that got cut short due to her fateful injury, and then they can just pivot to talking about sand and surf.

"I'd still remember everything that happened from my first life? Well, in that case, I'd make sure Uncle Keako didn’t steal the money that got Chin kicked off the force. I mean, there must've been something else they could've done. Like take out a loan or move to Finland."

"You've got a good heart, Kono." Danny squeezes her shoulder. "If you ever end up in my situation, I just want you to know this – I'm really glad that I got to live in timelines where your family didn't move to Finland and I got to meet both you and Chin." 

Her laugh is cut short when they both notice the beam of Steve's huge, industrial flashlight appear like a star in the midnight blackness of the cave. However, only one set of footsteps becomes audible as that light approaches. 

"You hear that?" Danny asks, glancing at Kono. 

She lifts her eyebrows. "Hear what?"

"Admittedly, Lori's small. Delicate on her feet. But I still think she'd make some noise if she was walking beside Steve." 

"You think it isn't them?" Kono asks, hand twitching down to hover near her gun.

"No, those are Steve's clomping footsteps and his huge, stupid headlight of a...oh." 

"Oh, what?"

The beam of the light's too high. Industrial flashlights are heavy, so most people hold them at about waist level. Not at the shoulder like the beam seems to indicate. 

Which is why Danny's not at all surprised to see Steve carrying Lori on his back when they get close enough for their shapes to become visible from the mouth of the cave. 

"Shoots, brah, what happened?" Kono asks.

"Treacherous cave floor," Steve says.

Lori huffs at him as if this is something they've been arguing about. 

"What about you guys?" Steve asks hesitantly. "I see you caught the baby terrorists." 

"Yeah, we found their hideout at the end of our tunnel," Kono says, proudly.

"Huh. Anything else I should know?" Steve prompts, eyes stuck on Danny.

"What do you mean?" Kono asks.

Danny doesn't know what he looks like, but Steve takes in his appearance and then looks back at the cave studiously. Like he's cataloguing all the things that could've caused whatever effect he's seeing on Danny. 

"Did something happen in the caves?" He asks, directing the question to a surprised Kono.

She looks pointedly at the handcuffed kids, all neatly lined in a row.

Steve huffs. "Was there something odd about where you found them? Satanic symbols drawn in blood on the walls, the heads of sacrificed animals mounted on spikes, something like that?"

Annoyed that, once again, the question's directed at Kono, Danny snaps, "At no point was there any indication that we were looking for anything other than a group of young malcontents. Our leads and evidence have not included religious symbols of any sort, so why are you bringing up Satanism?" 

Before him and Steve can start bickering, Kono unfortunately jumps in with, "We found out why they've been so hard to locate." 

"Why?" Steve prompts, cocking his head and seemingly having entirely forgotten about Lori, who's still on his back, looking more awkward the longer Steve ignores her low throat-clears as she tries to get him to put her down. 

"The only way into the hideout is through a very narrow crawlspace. It was so tight down there, we almost stopped searching. Most people wouldn't even fit between the rocks," Kono finishes slowly, taken aback by Steve's shocked expression. "Bossman?"

There's no undoing Steve's realization, but Danny doesn't really want anyone else knowing about his claustrophobia and there's a real danger of Steve just blurting out the revealing question.

So, as much as he'd been enjoying Lori's discomfort, he says, "I think Lori would appreciate solid ground, Steven, now that there's no walking involved."

It honestly takes SuperSEAL a long second to realize he's still holding her up. "Oh. Sorry, Lori. I, um...forgot you weren't a backpack."

Both Danny and Kono bite their lips, swallowing laughter.

Lori swats his arm as he lets her down. Then, as they continue the wait for HPD to come help haul the kids off, she effectively prevents (what will probably now be a future) discussion about Danny's claustrophobia. 

How, you might ask? 

Well, she very creatively spends the time teasing Steve about epic backpacking trips he must've participated in if carrying someone on his back is so inconsequential. 

The conversation is riveting. 

Unavoidably, though, at the end of another Five-0 adventure, they're in the car together for the long drive home.

"You're claustrophobic," Steve says more than asks as soon as the engine turns over. 

"Saying something out loud doesn't make it the truth," Danny says, bitingly. 

"Am I wrong?" 

Silence is Danny's answer.

"I asked you once if you had any phobias," Steve points out. 

"I never said I didn't have any."

"No, you didn't," Steve agrees. "You just went off on a tangent about how phobias are created and then spent half an hour worrying out loud about all the phobias you're afraid Grace might pick up from her friend, Tommy." 

"Uh, no, Tommy is not her friend. I seriously doubt he is  _anyone's_ friend because pathological liars don't have the ability to form meaningful –"

"You're doing it again," Steve points out, unnecessarily. "Why don't you want to talk about this?" 

Danny shrugs. "I can't easily change my reaction to close quarters. I could spend thousands of dollars I can't afford over the course of several years trying to rid myself of it, but why should I? It's never prevented me from doing my job. So, what's there to talk about? I'm afraid of guns, but we don't talk about that. And I'm afraid of my daughter growing up and forgetting about me, but you don't bring up going to treatment for that! Why should this be any diff –"

"Whoa! Hold on," Steve catches his waving hand with the one that isn't steering the car. "I didn't say anything about seeking treatment. All I did was state an observation and, for the record, we have talked about guns before. I know just how much you hate the availability of firearms, just like I know how you feel about Tommy, and your fears surrounding your kids. It's rare that you avoid a topic, which is why, to me, this stands out."

Steve smooths his thumb over the palm of Danny's hand. "I just want to know why this is different, Danno. Why does admitting you're claustrophobic make you uncomfortable?"

"Because phobias are irrational. Who would want to admit to an irrational fear? There's so many legitimate things in the world to worry about that adding to the list is just silly. And I think you're severely underestimating the number of things I don't tell you about." 

This gives Steve pause. 

Brow wrinkling, he glances sideways at Danny. "How long did it take for you to tell me the first time around?"

"Four years. It didn't come out until one fateful Halloween when a different case took us into the cave systems." 

"Four years?" Steve goes quiet, thinking again.

It's not until they're at their front door, about to go inside, that Steve comes to a realization. "You don't talk about the things that bother you the most," he says, looking gobsmacked. "But...you process things by discussing them," Steve says with the confusion of a man who's having his world view challenged.

With a sigh, Danny explains, "Some things you can change or do something about – so, yeah, I like to talk about those things. But not everything has a solution. Sometimes, there's no real way to process something. Ergo, there is no reason to talk about it." 

Danny figures Steve will get it. 

It has been the pattern for their relationship to not talk about the sharp, painful things in their lives. The first time around, the conversations Danny had with Steve about Matt's death, the fragility of Charlie's life, his internal conflict over Columbia, and other such unconquerable situations had been minimal. And in turn, Steve had held a lot of painful details and experiences close to the vest. 

Danny has no proof, but he's fairly certain Steve had used the phrase, "It's classified" gratuitously.

This Steve, however, shakes his head sharply and says, "Nope." 

"Um, no, what?" Danny asks, wondering if he's missed a sentence while he was lost in thought.

"We've been through this. No, we are not going to skip the most important conversations, and probably the ones we most need to have, just because they're uncomfortable." 

Danny blinks at him. "I'm sorry, but are you sure you're Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett?"

But, Steve's serious expression dispels any levity that could be had. 

"Don't think this is going to be one-sided," Danny warns. "If you're pushing for this, it better be quid pro quo, my friend." 

Lifting his chin challengingly, Steve puts his hand over his heart like he's making a solemn vow, the severity of which is slightly detracted from with his, "You got it, buddy."

"Then, please, by all means, lead on. I know of a handful of skeletons in your closet that could do with an airing." Danny still expects what in his mind is a game of emotional chicken to end with Steve backing out and both of them mutually accepting that some things are too uncomfortable to be voiced aloud. 

He is honestly shocked when Steve takes a seat on the couch and pulls Danny into his lap. Thankfully, they're facing each other, because claustrophobia is one thing. His memories of Delano breathing on the back of his neck are not up for discussion or proper processing at this time. 

Without further prompting, Steve starts the Important Conversations Session with Freddie. Weaving his fingers into Danny's hair and clinging to him like he's a stress pillow, Steve relives those last moments in the jungle and the fateful decision he made before painting a vivid picture of facing Freddie's family and friends, telling them the news while trying not to crumble beneath the weight of survivor's guilt.

Danny tries to offer consolation however he can. 

At first, just with physical comfort, but then he remembers all the stories he's never told this Steve, so he recounts his own tale of survivor's guilt – about losing his partner, Grace, and how the tragedy of 9/11 saved his life. 

For some reason, hearing the stories side by side is cathartic for Danny. He feels understood and Steve's expression hints strongly at a mirrored feeling of closeness.

Eventually, they do circle back around to the claustrophobia. 

Steve makes Danny tell him about his first memory of experiencing his fear of enclosed spaces. Then, in typical SuperSEAL fashion, he picks it apart like it's a mission brief. 

He wants to know everything – all the details – firing question after question.

"What triggers you the most?"

"What's your tolerance?"

"How do you feel about closets? Tunnels? Jail cells?"

"Is it just places or can it be just actions, too? Like being pressed against a wall or squeezed in a hug?"

Danny's honest for the most part but doesn't admit to his occasional discomfort with walls or hugs because they're not behaviors he wants to discourage Steve from doing. 

"Is there anything that helps? Anything that makes it easier?" Steve asks, with the enthusiasm of a man who's taking mental notes with the full intention of putting everything he's learned into practice later.

Fuck, but Danny's heart hurts by the end of the night. 

Thankfully, it's less to do with the weight of bad memories or phantom feelings of panic as he remembers the tightness of the caves, and more to do with Steve and how blessed he is to have him in his life again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect a few updates this weekend ^_^


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny's sure he's nowhere near depression. He's just having a string of bad days. Yeah, that's it. He's fine.  
> Although, it's funny how little things add up.
> 
> Little things like Doris being shady.  
> Little things like Steve's antics.  
> Little things like Lori's flirting.  
> Little things like being stuck in teeny, tiny spaces.  
> Bigger things like...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because ivyraven mentioned Charlie in the comments and I had that chapter ready ;)

Bigger things like when, on top of all that's come before, even what should be a monumentally great thing doesn't turn out like he expected. 

Yes, it's selfish and terrible. 

So many people in the world have to face miscarriages or sick babies or problems conceiving. At nine weeks, when Rachel calls to tell him how the doctor's visit went, he should be elated at the news. Twins. They're going to have twins. Two babies. 

This is a blessing. This is a  _blessing_.  _This is a blessing!_

Dammit.

Danny ends the call before he can start hyperventilating into the receiver. Because this isn't what he was expecting. He doesn't know what it means. 

The first time around, did Rachel also start out with twins? Did she lose one of them and never tell him? Was it his fault for adding additional stress to that of her marriage failing? Is that why she chose Stan when she came back from Jersey? Is she going to lose one now? Is it destiny? And, if not, what do twins mean? Is Charlie going to be one of them? Or is he never going to exist again? What if – 

His train of thought stutters to a stop on its track once his breathing gets too fast. Lungs burning, he finds the kitchen on unsteady feet and searches the cupboards for a paper bag. He knows where they're kept, but his mind's too muddled to guide him. 

Ages later, his hand pokes into the lunch cupboard and drags a crinkly bag out by the neck. Light-headed, Danny rebreathes into paper confines and tries to close down thoughts of Charlie.

It's too early to be freaking out. 

He knows less than nothing right now. And, what right does he have to be upset? Everything leading up to this moment has been miraculous. 

Rachel asking him to be the father? Monumentally miraculous.

Offering him visitation? Colossally miraculous.

And twins...that really is a blessing. 

Steve swans in through the door, arms laden with street sweepers. 

"What the hell? You expecting another shootout? Gonna defend the house from invasion?"

Kicking the door closed, Steve pauses at the foot of the stairs. "Why are you out of breath?" He asks, carefully tracing Danny with his eyes.

"Do you think Grace has a crush on Tommy? I mean, hear me out – of all the little boys in her class, she mentions him the most. I don't remember him being such a frequent topic of conversation."

Steve rolls his eyes and starts up the staircase. "Relax, Danno. I'm pretty sure, of all the side-effects from the things you've changed, the last one you have to worry about is Tommy becoming your son-in-law."

Danny sputters. "Excuse me? Did I just hear you say son-in-law? Are you nuts? Grace is not dating till she's thirty.  And the man she chooses is definitely not going to be the likes of Tommy. I swear, that kid is a pathological liar. Every other sentence is some ridiculous story or exaggeration. If she's going to date someone, it's going to be a doctor or an engineer.  Someone respectable with a healthy love of facts." 

A chuckle drifts down from the second floor. "See, Danno? So, there's nothing to worry about." 

Grinning ruefully, Danny wonders if it's cheap to use his daughter to explain away a panic attack. It was the only believable excuse that had popped into his head that Steve wouldn't question. If he can avoid it, he wants to spare Steve from worrying about Danny's issues on top of active investigations, the picture issue, keeping on top of the governor's trial, dealing with Lori and her spy stuff, and checking in on the two major criminals languishing in jail cells on opposite sides of the country. Particularly when this specific freak out is over what should be – no,  _is_ , dammit – a blessing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jacksepticeye has an inordinate effect on the media I consume. I tried Futurama because of him and now I'm digging out my God of War psp game ready to give it another try even though it didn't really didn't seem like my kind of game.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny's sure he's nowhere near depression. He's just having a string of bad days. Yeah, that's it. He's fine.  
> Although, it's funny how little things add up.
> 
> Little things like Doris being shady.  
> Little things like Steve's antics.  
> Little things like Lori's flirting.  
> Little things like being stuck in teeny, tiny spaces.  
> Bigger things like when, on top of all that's come before, even what should be a monumentally great thing doesn't turn out like he expected.   
> But the last straw, the thing that pushes Danny over the edge of rational, is...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus endeth Phase 1.

But the last straw, the thing that pushes Danny over the edge of rational, is when he comes across living proof that the photos Delano posted have consequences out in the real world. 

As Danny places the handcuffs on the prescription pill drug dealer, he thinks nothing of the leering grin on the man's face. There's plenty of animosity directed at him in these situations, so at first this seems like business as usual.  

Until the guy says, in an obnoxiously loud voice, "I didn't think it was possible, but you look even hotter in person. I'd tap that peachy ass of yours if you promised to suck my dick first like you did that gun."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Danny asks, confused.

That only lasts until Steve steps in, pulling the guy away and slamming the guy up against the Camaro. "Shut up, you piece of shit, before I introduce your face to concrete."

The guy just laughs in tight, injured rasps from the tackle he was recently subjected to. "Ohhh, so he's your bitch, huh? What'chu think? If I give you some information, would you share a piece of that fine, round – "

Before he can finish, Steve pulls him off the hood, spins him around, and slams a fist into his stomach.

Doubling over, the perp groans.

"Don't make me aim lower," Steve growls.

"Speechless at the realization that the guy is talking about Delano's photos and that apparently Danny's readily recognizable in them, Danny walks away, hoping to trade rides with Lori for the drive back to the palace. He doesn't want to be anywhere near the asshole they've just arrested. 

Steve, however, calls Kono over and hands the perp to her. 

"Wow, Bossman, you feeling alright? You're actually going to let me and Lori drive this guy to HPD while you get started on the paperwork?"

Steve bites his lip, guilty. "I'm not that bad," he tries. 

"Oh, please," Lori chimes in. "I've been here a few months and this is the first time you're offering to do paperwork ahead of us." 

As unsteady as he's feeling, Danny still manages to scoff at that. "Ladies, please, don't make a mistake. He in no way, shape, or form said he'd be doing paperwork. I bet you, as soon as he gets to the palace, he'll find ten other things to do besides writing the report." 

Kono sighs. "Unfortunately, I think you're right. It's more a question of just how many other things he can think of to drag him away from doing work that doesn't raise his adrenaline."

Playing along, Steve huffs at them in feigned outrage, but his gaze never strays far from Danny in obvious worry.

Thankfully, he doesn't ask any questions until after the day is over and they're driving home. 

"So...this morning..." His voice trails off as he struggles to find words to communicate his worries and delicately ask after Danny's feelings. 

Fuck, Steve's trying to be  _delicate_. 

With a snort, Danny says, "Forget about this morning. I have." 

"Don't do that," Steve says.

"Do what?"

"If you don’t want to talk about it, just say so, but don't pretend it's alright."

"Ok, fine. It's not alright and I don't want to talk about it," Danny says, hoping the subject will get dropped. 

Steve, however, twitches in his seat, obviously not satisfied with that answer. "You sure, Danno? You're always telling me to be more open. To share things with you – "

"What do you want me to say, Steve? That I feel violated? That it's horrifying to think that Delano's photos were clear enough that, on this tiny island, anyone who's seen them will recognize me? That I feel sick, embarrassed, and helpless to change this situation since apparently things can't be dragged back from the maw of the internet? That I feel like a coward for avoiding the photos, when I still have zero clue what all he did to me? Fuck, Steve, why can't you just leave it alone?" 

"Because I love you, Danny," Steve says, easily. "When I see you hurting, I want to fix it, even if it's not in my power to do so. And it's driving me crazy that I don't know how to help you. Should I leave you alone? But what if this festers? Should I force you to talk? Or is talking going to make all this more real? Harder to deal with? I have no clue how to tackle this, Danny. So, this is me asking – what do you need from me right now?" 

"You've been great, Steve.  _Really_ ," Danny emphasizes ahead of Steve's stubborn protest. "I swear, someday I'll stop being surprised at how considerate you can be, despite how far out of your comfort zone some of those things take you. But beyond that, you make my days better just by being around. That's more than enough for me, babe. The rest, I can handle on my own with time and a little patience." 

Steve doesn't necessarily look satisfied, but he accepts Danny's "solution" without argument. Probably because, in that moment, Danny believes he's telling the truth. 

Danny's a liar.

 

 

###


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enough is enough.   
> Danny can't just ignore his problems anymore. He needs solutions.   
> And, no, he doesn't need anyone else's help.

It's not Danny's intention to spin out. It's not some strategy he's aiming for – like that whole "hit rock bottom first, then climb the ladder to redemption." 

His descent into crazy is entirely accidental and gradual enough that, at first, he's not aware just how big of a role anxiety is playing in his day-to-day life, and neither is anyone else. 

The process starts, unsurprisingly, with his insomnia. Unfortunately, sleep is a necessary ingredient to retaining rationality. Which means, when Danny stops getting enough of it, he stops thinking clearly. The hours of rest he clocks during a night falls from six to three over a couple of weeks. 

The list of remedies he tries to fix his problem is long enough to span Steve's staircase, but nothing works consistently. It's out of desperation that he takes a page out of SuperSEAL's book and decides to exhaust himself to sleep.

He joins a 24-hour gym and starts sneaking out of the house around midnight, when Steve's soundly asleep, to go work out. Again, this is done with sincere innocence. He doesn't go every night, either. Just the ones he can't fall asleep. 

At first. 

It doesn't become a nightly habit until he glances into his toy chest of memories and realizes that a huge number of the dates have already passed on the cases that were coming up. Unconsciously, he'd fallen back into the pattern of actually investigating cases because all of the recent ones have been new and unfamiliar. 

Fuck, but that freaks him out. 

Mentally assessing recent events – capturing Delano and Wo Fat early, Doris babysitting Grace when cases come up on Danny's weekends, Matt out of jail and back on Wall Street, the rash of new cases,  _twins_ – Danny reaches the conclusion that the changes he's made have put them so very far from what happened the first time around that most, if not all, of the future is uncertain.  

He's not too proud to admit it – he panics. 

Lord knows, he trusts in SuperSEAL's abilities. In fact, trust is the wrong word. He's spent a decade watching Steve use his training for enemy takedowns and general bad-assery. He knows Steve's amazing. 

What he doesn't trust is Steve's sense of self-preservation. Too often, Steve takes risks he doesn't need to, or he takes the brute force approach for the sake of adrenaline highs and short-term expediency, or he uses himself as a shield or a distraction. Sure, it's not nearly as bad as it was the first time around. Their frequent flier miles at the hospital are only a quarter of what Danny was once used to. But his perception of the risks Steve takes is different this time around. 

In this second life, Danny already knows the pain of permanently losing Steve. He can't live through it a second time. Dammit, he deserves to be mourned rather than doing all the mourning. 

So, thoughts in that vein begin running through his head. 

There's no point wasting breath on arguing with Steve over his safety. He can sense that Steve's trying to be more careful, but that he's at his limit and every effort to talk him down further, Danny fears, might just make him give up entirely, decide that he can't win and no amount of 'careful' will be enough to satisfy Danny, and then they'll be back at square negative one. 

No, talking won't cut it.

If Danny wants results, he'll have to enter on Steve's level and tackle the issue through action.

And the first action he takes is to go to the gym every night and build muscle, speed, and endurance in earnest. In a way, it almost feels like he's back in high school, performing tasks at odd, inconsistent hours, taking random naps anytime he's seated for more than a few minutes, training like an athlete again, except instead of preparing for a position as short stop, Danny's targeting for self-taught ninja status. 

Because he's stubborn, he does slowly but surely make progress towards that target. His efforts are largely unimpeded, with even his faulty knee playing nicely (for once) with the rest of his body. 

There's only one problem with clocking hours nightly at the gym. Steve's bound to wake up and he might find it odd that Danny's missing. 

Case in point. 

Danny walks in at four in the morning to find Steve pacing a hole into the living room floorboards.

"Where were you?!" He demands, hauling Danny over the threshold and slamming the door behind him. The snick of the lock that follows sounds ominous.

"I told you, I joined a gym to help with the insomnia." 

"You  _told_ me? When did you –" Steve's gaze drifts toward the ceiling as he scans his memory. "No, you said you were thinking about joining a gym, Danny. You never told me you went through with it."

"I didn't think we needed to have another conversation about it. I mean, it's not like you can't track me down." Danny waves his hand pointedly.

Oops.

Steve's eyes narrow. "That's a very good point. The AI should've sounded the alarm the first few times you did this, unless you remembered to add night visits to the gym to your behavioral profile. Except you don't know how to do that. Let me guess, Toast?"

Steve leaves unsaid the question, "You trusted Toast with this, but not me?" 

Danny hears it anyway. Wincing, he says, "Toast isn't going to stay up nights wondering if I'm alright. I can guarantee he has no ambitions of easing my insomnia. I surmised, however, that you would be tormented at the thought of me not sleeping and in fact, knowing you, there was a chance you'd take it as a sign that I didn't feel safe with you or, worse, you'd blame yourself for not finding me earlier that night with Delano. Was I wrong?"

Vibrating with frustration, Steve starts to say something but then thinks better of it. 

"Thank you for not denying it," Danny says.

Scrubbing a hand roughly over his hair, Steve says, "How long can you go on like this, Danny? I mean, I noticed the cat naps and the ridiculous number of coffee refills, but I thought you were still trying to get a full night's sleep. Instead, you gave up." 

"This isn't giving up, Steven. The gym helps." 

"Except it really is, Danny. Are you even looking for a better solution? Have you tried seeking medical treatment? Or talking to someone about what's keeping you up at night more than usual? Or did you stop searching as soon as this half-assed work-till-you-re-exhausted plan seemed sufficient enough to keep you functional?"

"Ok, point," Danny admits with a sigh. "But I'm not willing to depend on drugs to get me to sleep. I can meet you half way, though. Go to the gym at a more reasonable time and keep an emergency stockpile of medication for the days when I've reached my limit for sleeplessness." 

Steve makes a face like he's not sure if he should be satisfied with that solution, but finally his shoulders drop with a release of tension and he pulls Danny close, long arms cocooning him against his chest. 

"Fuck, Danno, do you have any idea what it was like waking up to find you gone? We went to bed together, so I thought you were somewhere in the house. For a while, I waited, but when a quarter of an hour passed, I started searching. First the house, then the beach, and your car was still here!" Steve's arms tighten. "I know you kinda hate it, but thank you, Danno, for agreeing to the microchip. Without it, I would've been out there scouring the island with Chin and Kono by now." 

Danny bites his lip, guilty. "Come on, babe, don't thank me for triggering you. In hindsight, I should've at least left a note."

Nuzzling into his hair, Steve says, "I just want you to know I appreciate it."

"I thought you were pissed at me. Just a minute ago, you looked ready to read me the riot act."

Steve nips his ear, sharply. "I am pissed, but I'm also relieved." Trailing his lips down Danny's neck, he whispers into his skin, "What's the point in being angry if you're safe? And you won't do it again, right?" His teeth bite along his collarbone deep enough to sting.

"Ow! How come you always gotta maul me, you Neanderthal animal?!" Danny tries to extract himself from the clutch of Steve's octopus arms, but Steve's warning growl makes him freeze.

"Danno," Steve says, voice deeper than usual and a helluva lot more serious. 

Suppressing a shiver, Danny promises, "I'll leave a note next time and leave it either with your phone or your keys so you'll be sure to see it. Or, hell, it's the 21st century. Maybe I'll leave you a text."

"As long as it's readable," Steve teases, scratching blunt nails along Danny's scalp and tipping his head back, exposing Danny's neck to his mouth. 

This is where the game begins.

Steve seems to have an unexplainable thing about spooning him during sex. Or just in general, since he apparently enjoys coming up behind Danny like a ninja and embracing him, whether they're doing chores or groceries or watching movies or hanging out at the beach or whatever. But, these days, there are moments when Danny wants to be able to look up and see Steve. Like when he's got fingers in his mouth. Which is why he has to engage in this stupid game of trying to keep Steve in a viewable position.

Yes, he could say something and Steve would change his behavior accordingly, although he'd definitely be pissed Danny hadn't said anything earlier, but goddammit, he's been shot before! Getting shot should, psychologically speaking, be a greater violation than having fingers shoved in his mouth. Why the fuck is he having so much trouble getting over this? 

He shouldn't have to change his sex life over something so small. Over something  _Delano_ did.  That's too much like letting the bastard win. 

So, he won't.

He'll play this positioning game and bury any tells in moans and kisses, using Steve's distraction against him to keep the guy from noticing the short moments in between great sex where Danny's uncomfortable.

That's not unhealthy, right?


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so things are bad, but Danny's an adult he can solve his own problems, yes?   
> He just has to keep off Steve's radar. He's not off to an auspicious start.
> 
> Strike 1 - Middle of the night training to better protect Steve from his own fool self.   
> Strike 2 - ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, thanks again for anyone who's leaving comments. They inspire the will to write more and with frequency. ^_^

Paranoia is a powerful motivator. 

It's not enough to be stronger and faster than usual. Particularly since he doesn't have over a decade of training and a six-foot frame. It might help him protect Steve from his own brand of crazy on occasion, but he still feels short-handed out in the field. 

It takes him a while to realize why because, most times, Five-0 is prepared for oddball eventualities, even on short notice. 

But one day, they're not. 

When Five-0 gets called around midnight to hunt down a gang-affiliated assassin in the jungle, the night vision goggles aren't in either Kono's or Danny's trunk. 

Steve insists flashlights are a no-go and will give away their positions. 

The assassin in question is apparently a city-dweller from the Midwest on "assignment" in Hawaii. Chin's research seems to indicate the goon's targeting a disloyal gang lieutenant. Nothing like a vacation "accident" to trim the fat. He's hardly the type of guy that's going to escape them using his jungle savoir faire. 

Their best option is to wait. Either for daylight or for backup to bring googles.

Steve, of course, disagrees. 

"He's going to be easy to track, Danny," Steve says as he rejects the most sensible course of action and decides to follow what he insists is a trail, in the dark, with only the patches of moonlight filtering in between tree branches to guide him. 

Surprise, surprise – Steve prevails. 

But not without injury. 

All because of the night vision goggles. 

They should've been in the trunk.

And as he starts thinking about it, Danny realizes there are lots of things that should be in the trunk. 

Simple things, like rope, carabiners, spare boots, flashlights, towels, heating pads, cooling pads, needles and thread, rubbing alcohol, tweezers, etc.

Specialized things, like lead smocks, a satellite phone, those damn goggles, binoculars, a flare gun, hunting knives, extra ammunition, etc.

Practical things, like extra batteries and chargers, MRE packets, hydration capsules, granola bars, water purification tablets, a lighter, etc.

In other words, Danny tries to stock his car with everything he can think of that will fit. 

It takes a whole weekend when Steve's out at Pearl for his mandatory Reserves drilling, but Danny manages to organize all those things and more inside his car. There's a strict system that Danny plans to enforce because he can't be searching his car seats for needle and thread if an emergency arises.

His intention is to wait for Steve to ask him about how he spent his weekend when he gets back on Monday morning. 

The timing is crucial for painting this change to their equipment inventory in the best light. He can't be the one to bring it up because that would give away how important being over-prepared is to Danny and he doesn't want any questions about why he's suddenly so concerned about supplies. He doesn't want to talk about how the future's become nigh unpredictable. It only depresses him.

He also doesn't want Steve to discover the inventory on his own because that would make it seem like he was hiding it, avoiding the conversation for why it's necessary to have fake IDs that Toast's put together on short notice in their glove compartment. 

But it's not only the cases that are unpredictable.  He should make a backup plan.

He doesn't.

Monday morning, a call comes in, rerouting Danny so that he doesn't drive to the palace. 

Instead, he meets Steve and the rest of the team at a crime scene where the walls of the publishing office are soaked in blood, even though there's no body and none of the employees are missing. 

After that, HPD phones in a request for assistance with a hostage situation at, of all places, the shooting range. Two wannabe vigilantes are purportedly sporting bullet holes and four other patrons and three members of staff are being held up at gunpoint. 

If the morning wasn't so hectic, Danny might've found a way to slip the restock smoothly into their teasing conversation on their drive to the range after Steve's dismissed his ride from the base.

Unfortunately, the whole issue slips his mind as the weekend begins to feel like it happened a lifetime ago. He forgets about all the new stuff they're driving around with until Steve goes to get his bulletproof vest out of the trunk, by which point, it's too late to forewarn him. 

"What in the world..."

Danny's still determined to play it cool though. Rounding the back of the car, he says, "Mess up my system, McGarrett, and you'll find yourself doing all the housework for a month. I am not kidding." 

Steve, however, knows him better than that. He grabs their vests out of the back, throws Danny his, and says, "Later." 

Danny doesn't really see what all there is to discuss, but apparently, it's important enough that, as soon as the job is done, Steve pulls Danny off to a private corner to talk about it.

"What, this can't wait?" Danny asks, surprised. 

"Are you alright?" Steve asks in implicit response.

"Yes? Why?"

"The trunk, Danno," Steve says, as if Danny needs the reminder.

"What about it?"

He can see Steve swallow a huff of frustration before he calmly states, "Danno, that trunk is the physical manifestation of an anxiety attack, if I ever saw one. What happened over the weekend?" 

"It wasn't the weekend, you shmuck. That trunk is my surrender. I give up. You and I are never going to see eye to eye about what's acceptable risk. If I can't stop you, then at least maybe I'll have the supplies on-hand to deal with the situation or its aftermath." 

It's an honest answer, if a bit incomplete.

Steve, of course, has to pick at that scab. Gently, he says, "A lead smock, Danno?"

"Yes, a lead smock!" Danny snaps. "That is a logical item to be carting around, particularly since it was radiation that killed you the first time!"

"Did you ever get the chance to finish grieving?" Steve asks, side-stepping the argument Danny's prepared for. 

There's a long pause as Danny tries to think of a better answer than, "No, I didn't." 

Too long a pause for Steve not to guess at the answer. "Danno, if you don't want to talk to a professional, I think you should at least talk to  _someone_. Even if you can't tell him everything, maybe your brother? You said he got you through tough times in the past."

"That's...not an unreasonable idea," Danny says, but he can't help thinking of this as strike two. Eventually, Steve will lose patience and this "seeking help" thing will stop being a discussion and will turn into a mandate. So, Danny promises, "I'll call him tonight," even though he's not optimistic about the results. As much as he loves his brother, Matt's more adept at helping with broken relationships, having been in that situation quite often; however, he's never lost anyone – not even a random acquaintance, let alone someone close.

Steve doesn't look particularly appeased, but he nods in acceptance before he squeezes the nape of Danny's neck and pulls him in close enough to smooch him on the forehead. "I need you to be okay, Danno," he says, softly. "If you can't do it alone, let me help." 

It's an offer that Danny doesn't want to take. Steve's hefting enough mental strain with memories of past missions, deaths, combat zones, and new revelations that Danny doesn't want Steve distracted further by the things causing his tailspin.

"Help me by being more careful and adding anything else that could be useful to the trunk," Danny says, kissing Steve's cheek in return. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike 3 and the Turnaround

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An obligatory chapter that pivots the direction from the story. I tried my best to make it interesting. Any feedback would be appreciated. 
> 
> And thanks so much for everyone who's left comments. I still have to get to some of them.  
> One in particular was about a twitter account. My aim is to join the modern world of hashtags sometime this month.   
> Why does it take that long? Because procrastination is a sickness and I've been infected all my life.

As much as Danny tries to get a grip, strike three happens not long after.

Just because the cases have become unpredictable doesn't mean that you can't anticipate the outcomes. Maybe you can't predict someone using a flamethrower inside the house, but you can anticipate that the whole place will go up in flames if that does happen. 

Danny knows Steve's tells. It's one of many reasons they're good partners. They can anticipate each other's movements, communicate with the barest gesture or facial expression, and recover quickly if anything goes wrong because they both know each other's thought patterns and can tune into the same wavelength. 

Danny knows for a fact that Five-0, in either timeline, has never worked a human trafficking case where people are being traded like Pokemon cards and are being forced into fighting death matches for their owners until their debts are paid. However, during the shootout with the site bodyguards, Danny also knows that Steve is about to break cover to take down the trundling behemoth headed his way from the front. 

What Steve isn't aware of – and what Danny can see from his higher vantage point – is that there's a thin-framed guard stealthily rounding the shipping container Steve's placed between him and gunfire. 

Because he's not an irresponsible idiot, Danny tries the mic first. "Steve, behind you."

No response. 

"Chin? Kono? Lori?" 

No one answers. 

Great, the mic is dead. 

Shouting is not allowed in the middle of armed conflict because (a) it's distracting and (b) it's hard to convey a clear message in a loud, chaotic environment. 

Taking all this into account, Danny feels he's right in throwing himself at the skinny goon before he can put a bullet in the back of Steve's head. He jumps at just the right time. It isn't until he makes impact that he remembers why pulling SuperSEAL stunts is generally a bad idea.

Sucking in a gasped breath and holding it in his lungs, Danny throws a right hook hard enough to knock out the downed goon and then rolls over onto his back to reposition his bum knee. 

The fact that Steve fails to notice what's happened just around the corner from him is a testament to how much danger he'd been in and the level of pandemonium inundating them. 

Danny's mostly useless for the tail end of the conflict. Thankfully, Chin arrives not long after in a helicopter (Kamekona in the pilot's seat) and announces over the megaphone that they're prepared to launch a missile into the heart of the gang's operations, the elaborate bluff works (thanks in no small part to Five-0's crazy reputation) and the men surrender. 

Steve finds him as he's sweeping the area for additional gang members to arrest.

"Here, one more for you," Danny says, waving an arm at the goon when Steve is close enough to hear. He's standing in a lean against the shipping container, so Steve doesn't immediately notice Danny's new injury.

"I thought you were the overwatch? When did you get down here?" 

"I, uh...he was sneaking up on you and my radio wasn't working."

"So, you sniped him from the second floor?" Steve asks, crouching to check the man's pulse.

"No, right hook knocked him out," Danny says, hesitantly.

Steve blinks up at him. "You had enough time to run down here and knock him out?"

"Of course not! You were in imminent danger." 

"Then how..." Steve looks up at the building, then up at Danny, still stuck to the side of the container. "Tell me you didn't jump," he demands, shooting to his feet.

"Handcuff the beanpole, first," Danny says, batting away Steve's hands. 

"Chin, one more on the south side of the compound. Send someone to take care of it," Steve says into his mic as he kneels down to better inspect Danny's leg. Carefully, he massages the area around Danny's knee through his pants, trying to gage the level of swelling. "Can you walk?"

The answer is no, but Danny hesitates to say so. He's a little afraid that Steve will just pick him up like a rucksack and carry him over to the arriving ambulance. Preemptively, he raises a hand, palm-up in warning. "I need your help, but you are going to be a crutch, not a wheel chair, capisce?"

"But it'd be faster if I – " Steve starts, frustrated. 

"No. You will help me on my terms or not at all."

With a growl, Steve wraps an arm tightly around his waist and pulls Danny's arm across his shoulders, holding on to his hand. He takes so much of Danny's weight that it feels like he's practically floating above the ground.

"Thank you."

"What possessed you to jump? Why didn't you just shoot him?"

"Element of surprise?" Danny offers, mostly because he's not sure why his first instinct was a physical takedown. In his head, there'd been a nervous voice insisting that Danny would miss, the guy would get away, and then he'd be another unknown going after Steve from a new direction where Danny wouldn't be of any help. 

Steve snorts. "You didn't really think about it, did you?"

"Admittedly, it was a spur of the moment solution to a spur of the moment problem"

"Well, you'll have plenty of time to think about it when you're doing the paperwork from home."

"Why from home?" Danny asks, not that he's complaining.

"The less you jostle your knee, the faster you'll heal."

In theory, Steve's right. 

If he was sitting at home in his sweats, knee couched on a pillow, he'd probably be healing faster.

Instead, Steve's overcompensatory truck is parked outside of Toast's house while Danny stands perched on two crutches in the living room. 

"You sure you don't want to sit down?" Toast asks for the third time.

"What are you, a furniture salesman? I'm fine standing and you said this wasn't going to take long." 

Toast mutters something, casting a worried side-eye at Danny, but he keeps typing. A few minutes later, Toast surfaces from the depths of his virtual machine and proxy connections. "Okay, I'm in," Toast says, apprehensively. "What name am I looking for?"

"Amanda Moris."

"Found it. You want me to get you a copy of this missing persons report?"

"No, I just needed confirmation. Now, one more thing. Can you get me an address for Roy and Terry Beckett?"

Toast mutters something obscene. "Oh, sure, that's just an entirely different database, no problem. You could at least tell me why I'm looking for these people." 

Danny considers it for a moment but doesn't see the harm. "They've got a welfare scam going, except the girl they're taking care of already has a family. They kidnapped her years ago and I'm pretty sure that when she ages out a year or so from now, Roy's going to murder her." 

Toast is far from an idiot, so it's no surprise that he asks. "If you know all that, how is it that you don't remember Amanda's report or these people's address?" 

Thinking fast, Danny says, "We checked their house when I was at HPD but didn't find her. I forgot about this case until, recently Grace started talking about Terry Pratchett books. Pratchett/Beckett...it was close enough to jog my memory and I realized that we should've checked for hidden rooms."

Toast hums skeptically, but wisely doesn't try poking holes in Danny's explanation, just hands over the address.

Danny meant to leave as soon as he had the information, but something about Toast's demeanor stops him. It's like the kid's got something to say, but he's struggling to get it out. Figuring to help him along, Danny asks, "Did Steve approach you about the job?"

Slowly, Toast nods. "Yeah, he gave me a rundown of the job responsibilities, benefits, all that jazz." 

"So, decision pending? Or have you already made up your mind?" 

Fidgeting in his chair, Toast admits, "I've got some things in the works, but I could go for a part-time consulting gig."

Danny suppresses a snort, remembering the app from hell that had once made Toast a millionaire. "Great, I'll let you submit your decision to McGarrett. You've got his number, right?" 

Toast nods, slowly again. 

Danny has a pretty good idea where the kid's head's at currently. With a sigh, he gives Toast the opening he's looking for. "You want to talk about the Dark web photos?"

" _Want_ is a strong word. More like, it feels awkward ignoring it?"

"Awkward. What's awkward about it? I'd be happy to never speak of it again." It comes out unintentionally sharp. 

Toast doesn't push. Just tentatively offers, "You won't need to worry about the Dark Web auction. I managed to find the IP-addresses of both machines involved in the bidding. We contacted the FBI, so those guys should already be in custody."

"Thank you. I had the utmost faith in your abilities," Danny says, actively trying not to think about the photos that Toast must've seen as he was cleaning up the results of Delano's mayhem. "And, honestly, I'm glad that you're going to be working with Five-0."

He's curious about how Toast's presence might change Five-0's interactions with Ian Wright. But even if it doesn't make a difference, Danny's satisfied to have the kid close at hand, working with Five-0, and safely out of any future harm's way. 

And, that reminds him. "Hey, Toast? There's one more thing I need you to do for me. There's another exception I need you to add to the microchip AI."

He'd sworn he was going to quit this. 

The likelihood of him catching a crime mid-act just because he's (kind of) stalking the people involved is farfetched, especially as the time frames on events start to diverge. But still, it nags at him. That he might miss something he could prevent. It's the reason he called in the Beckett case for HPD to investigate and it's the reason he's sitting here now, in his car, outside Hector Ruiz's beachside home, waiting for something to happen. 

It's not a safe place to be, particularly since Danny vaguely remembers the ex-military soldier-turned-assassin had a double-digit body count, the first time around. The only redeeming factor is that at least it's less pointless than the times he's sat in front of single-offenders' houses. A career assassin's takedown seems probabilistically worthier of the investment.

Once again, it's ridiculously early morning. 

Steve's pulling an all-nighter at the office. Not because lives are on the line – if that were the case, Danny would be helping – but because Jameson has been looking for reasons to fire them. Her most recent tactic is piling on the work and enforcing strict paperwork deadlines in the hopes that she can point to their backlog and say Five-0 isn't pulling their weight. Danny can't really help there, since he wasn't present for any of the recent arrests or incidents that need to be written up. 

So, instead of resting or catching up on sleep, he's sitting on the passenger's side, seat pushed as far back as it will go with his foot perched on the dashboard in a weak attempt to keep his knee elevated.

Nothing's happened so far.

With his binoculars, Danny was able to confirm that Ruiz was up watching TV an hour ago. Every so often, he checks again to see if the man's asleep, waiting for that to be his signal to go home, but either Hector's an insomniac too or something's keeping him up.

Every time Danny pans over the windows, he spots Hector roaming about. Sometimes, he's pacing, sometimes he's snacking, sometimes he goes into the bathroom...for an assassin, Ruiz has a helluva lot of windows to be spied through. At one point, Danny catches him staring out into the dark intently. His gaze is so sharp and roving that Danny wonders if the man's got a sixth sense that he's being watched. 

Maybe, if Danny had kept up his surveillance Ruiz might have made it all the way out to the car. 

But the clock turns over into 3 am territory and everything is quiet. Ruiz is lurking downstairs now, stopping at windows to check outside more frequently. 

Suddenly, the driver's side door opens and Steve slides into the seat. He smells like salt and heat and his breathing's elevated, the way it always is at the end of a run. Without a word, he starts the car and points it towards home. 

Strike three. 

Goddamned microchip. 

Danny wants to argue, but he hasn't learned anything of import in the time he's wasted loitering outside Ruiz's house. Without something concrete to point to for justification, there's not much of an argument to make. 

He expects the car ride to pass in silence, but Steve's agitation hits boiling point in the confines of the Camaro. "Whose house was that?" Steve demands.

"Place belongs to Hector Ruiz." 

Steve's frustrated hand wave is a plea for more information.

Sighing, Danny admits, "If he's the same Hector Ruiz I met once upon a time, then he's responsible for tens of murders."

"And you thought it was a good idea to stalk him?!" 

"A good idea? No. A self-imposed necessity? Kinda." 

"You're an idiot," Steve growls. 

"What's got you so pissed?" Danny asks, tone purposely casual. Steve appears to be in need of venting and nothing will rile him quicker than implying his fears are unfounded.    

"Could you have taken this guy in a fight?" Steve challenges.

"One-on-one? Maybe, but I think soldier boy would've likely pulled a stealth tactic and stuck me with a poisoned dart or something."

The muscles in Steve's jaw pulses. "Why didn't you bring this one to the team?"

Danny snorts. "I'm sorry, don't you have enough real work on your plate? We catch so many cases, we don't have time to properly document them all. And now with Jameson purposely making impossible demands, when exactly did you want to pencil in a baseless investigation?"

"One of the things you hated most was my solo-missions, right?"

"Oh, no, my friend. That is an absolute false equivalency. Me sitting in my car after hours, watching someone from a distance is not even in the same universe as your missions to Timbuktu, okay?"

"So, I'm not allowed to worry about you because spying on a murderer isn't as dangerous as military operations?"

"Well, okay, point," Danny says as Steve steers the car into the driveway. "You have the right to worry about any irrational thing you want –"

 Shit, too far.

Realization dawns on Steve. "You're baiting me." 

"Pfft, for what purpose?"

"You're trying to get me to do most of the talking. But, see, here's the thing – I’m done watching you slowly unravel. We tried things your way and I don’t see that any progress has been made. In fact, I’d say the past few weeks, you've been backtracking. Keeping more secrets, leaving more things unsaid. But, no more. I’m done being a bystander to this. We are going to make a list of everything we – and I do mean  _we_ – are dealing with, and then a plan to go with the list. Because we’re not just two people living together anymore. We’re a unit. We tackle things  _together_ ,” Steve says, channeling his inner Commander. 

Clearly, there won’t be any negotiating.

"But you've got so much on your plate already," Danny tries, though he knows it won't work.

"Are you saying you're not willing to help me with my problems?" Steve asks. Clever bastard.

"There's nothing I wouldn't help you with," Danny says with a sigh. 

"And you think that feeling doesn't go both ways?" 

"Not for everyone. But for us it does. Intellectually, I know that. In practice, however..." 

"Which is why we're fixing this today." Stalking inside, Steve grabs pen and paper before dropping onto a couch cushion. He pats the seat beside him. "Come on." 

"Okay, if you swear this is mutual," Danny says, sitting, "then what's your first contribution to the list?"

Without hesitation or even too much thought, Steve says, "My mother. I'm afraid she's going to get herself into trouble. I don't think she would be trying to get me involved unless she thought she couldn't do it alone. But even if she can do it alone, I hate that she's planning missions to who-knows-where. I mean, she's my  _mother_."

Danny steals the pen and paper from Steve and writes Doris at the top of the page. "Okay, good. What else is on your plate." 

Steve gives him a look. "Your turn, buddy." 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Danny wonders where he should start. How much does he want to admit to? 

Slowly, he offers, "More and more cases aren't matching up. A bunch of dates have passed and I don't know what it means. Are they still going to happen? Should I check in on the people involved? I mean, some of our old cases were close calls. We prevented virus weaponization and bombings. And what about the things that affected us personally? Like, Rick Peterson, an old partner of mine, is set to be released from jail in a few months. Last time, he kidnapped Grace and tried to get me to kill Stan. Is that going to happen again? I mean, did I make the right choice, changing so much so soon? I could've tried staying as close to the original timeline as possible. Would that have been better? What if –"

"Hey, stop for a minute, Danno," Steve says, practically pulling Danny into his lap. 

If there's ever a time to use a hushing sound, it's a moment like this. The absence of that soft, quieting sound is stark. Danny doesn't even need to ask whether it's because Steve's caught him flinching at hushing noises. Which is not good. Danny knows he needs to get over it before the twins arrive and side-stepping the problem is nowhere near a solution. 

But one problem at a time.

"Look, Danny, I understand why it bothers you, but I think you need to look at it from another perspective. It was nice having a cheat sheet for the past few months, but eventually you were going to get to a part of your life that didn't have a playbook. Maybe it's better that it's happening sooner rather than later, because the longer it lasts, the scarier it becomes – living in a world where unpredictable things happen all the time." 

"That's a helluva lot easier said than done." 

"I know, Danno," Steve says, rubbing his scruffy chin against Danny's hair. 

Danny snorts. Smooth dog, indeed. The moniker fits in so many ways. 

"We can keep an eye out for the things you remember, but I can tell you right now, there won't be any more stalking. If there's something we can track down or prevent, we'll do it as a team – gather evidence, get a wire-tapping warrant, follow people around on the internet. You dig?"

"Fine. Next?" 

The abrupt transition makes Steve frown, but he allows it, moving on to say, "It bothers me that you've obviously been dealing with side effects from what Delano did to you, but you never told me about any of them. I've had to guess which behaviors to avoid and I'm still not convinced I caught them all."  

"I'm not sure that counts," Danny mutters. "That issue belongs more to me than it does to you." 

"Danno." Steve nips his ear, scoldingly. "I worry about you and Grace most of all. You've been taking away my ability to help you by keeping things close to the vest. Worse than that, sometimes I get the sense that I'm accidentally traumatizing you, but I can't pinpoint what I'm doing wrong." 

"Okay, I'll add that to the list," Danny says, avoiding Steve's plaintive gaze. 

"Danno," Steve says, pulling the notepad gently away and nudging Danny's chin up to meet his eyes. "How about you tell me what those side effects are?" 

"They're stupid." 

"There's no way they could be," Steve says, warning in his tone. "What you went through was traumatic and trauma manifests differently depending what moments stood out to you."

"I've been through worse. I've gotten so used to getting shot at, that I don't even get nightmares anymore. That's a life-threatening situation. The incident with Delano shouldn't be this heavy or this difficult to get over. It wasn't big enough to warrant the space it's taking up in my head." 

"That's bullshit, Danny, and you know it. It was a unique situation - one, if my guess is right, you haven't been exposed to before. Of course, it's going to stick with you. I know you wouldn't judge anyone else for this, so why are you being so hard on yourself?" 

Danny sighs. "I'm not sure I'm qualified to answer that. It just feels like it shouldn't matter. The 'side effects' seem like an overreaction to the events that took place while I was conscious." 

"Maybe that's part of the problem? The fact that a number of things were done to you without your knowledge or consent could be making everything you do know about worse. But I agree with you. Neither of us is qualified to come up with a game plan, so how do you feel about seeing a professional? …what?" 

Danny can't help his disbelief. Remembering all those counseling sessions Steve had blown off or treated as a joke, it's a surprise to hear him proposing a shrink. Although maybe it's because he won't be the one going to sessions. 

"Yeah, fine, I can do that. Next?" 

Steve nips him again. "You were going to tell me about those side effects." 

"Um, no. I'm going to tell the therapist about the side effects. What I need from you is to stop worrying about them. Which includes the ones you've guessed at. For instance, the hushing noise - I have to get over that one before the babies arrive and you avoiding that sound is not going to help me do that." 

Steve would probably try to argue if he weren't stuck on, "Babies? As in, plural?"

With a wince, Danny admits, "It's my turn, right? So, Rachel's informed me that she's having twins, which should be a great thing. But every time I think about it, my heart hurts and my stomach twists up in knots. I don't know what it means, and no one else knows either. Even though worrying about it won't get me any closer to an answer or give me any way to influence the outcome, I'm still…distracted by it." 

"How long have you been dealing with this on your own?" Steve asks, fingers tapping in agitation against Danny's leg. 

"Not too long. But if it wasn't for this sit-down, I don't think we'd be discussing it until after their birth." 

Because there is no solution, Steve just adds it to the list and holds Danny just a little bit tighter.

"Your turn," Danny prompts, wanting to be done with this discussion. 

Surprisingly, Steve says, " I think we should come clean about our relationship to Lori." 

"If you tell her about us, you won't be able to flirt information out of her. Also, what about Jameson?" 

"I found out tonight that she assumed we were dating."

"How did that come up in conversation?" 

"She said she was going to start holding us more accountable on the bureaucratic side of things. More reports to fill out, stricter deadlines, etc. And one of the forms she wants us to fill out is a formal declaration of our relationship."

"Well, you won't hear any argument from me. The less flirting I have to watch, the better."

SuperSEAL's eyebrows go up. "Has this been bothering you the whole time?" Steve asks, gaze traveling towards the ceiling as he scans through his memories. 

"Don't think about it too hard. If you don't remember, it's because I usually removed myself from the room when it seemed like the show was going to be on." 

Visibly biting the inside of his cheek to keep from cursing. Steve says, "It's another thing you should've told me, Danny. I could've found another way to get the information." 

"It didn't bother me too much and I understood why you were doing it. But it'll be nice to have it no longer be a thing."  

"You're killing me, Danno," Steve says, rubbing his scalp in agitation.

"Sorry, babe, but hey - at least that's the last of my issues. You know about everything now."

"You sure?" Steve asks, suspicious. 

"Definitely," Danny says, nuzzling Steve's neck. "You?"

"Nothing more to add." Looking over the list, Steve pencils in a few details. "Now we just need a plan of attack for all of these." 

"Everything's an Op to you, huh?" Danny teases. 

"As long as things get done, you can phrase it in whatever metaphor you want," Steve offers, generously. 

"Let's do it later," Danny says, licking a stripe along the side of Steve's neck. 

Thankfully, Steve is absolutely willing to be on the same page, licking into Danny's mouth and standing up with Danny still in his arms. "How do you feel about shower sex?" 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tackling the first issue on Danny and Steve's list, which includes: 
> 
> 1) Lori's ignorance of their relationship  
> 2) Dori's missions  
> 3) Delano after effects  
> 4) Danny's discomfort with the changing future  
> 5) The Twins replacing Charlie  
> And secretly, Danny's discomfort with Steve's hypothetical future solo-missions and dangerous behaviors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did this update need to take this long? No.   
> Will the other updates take this long? I'll cry if they do.  
> Long story short? I got depressed, stopped writing, and tried distracting myself with the consumption of other media.  
> Which is how I discovered and subsequently got moderately (haha, right, moderate) obsessed with the Voltron fandom.  
> The show is cute, kind of like Avatar Last Airbender, so it's well made, but the fandom has such a huge plethora of klance stories. They made me slightly happier.   
> Anyways, yes, I will make a concentrated effort to start writing everyday again. And indeed, the rest should hopefully fit in four chapters. If you're still reading this, THANK YOU! And know that every comment has helped bolster me like you wouldn't believe. ^_^

There are right ways and wrong ways of imparting news. And Danny knows Steve well enough that he correctly predicts two things. 

One, that Steve, goal-driven nutcase that he is, will take the easiest thing on their list – informing Lori of their relationship – and try to complete it as soon as possible. 

And two, that he’ll choose to show rather than tell. 

Which is why, loathe though he is to do it, Danny heads him off at the pass. 

It’s beyond lucky that the day after their talk, Steve has an early meeting with the Governor. Danny drives into work with a mission, despite Steve’s ongoing insistence that he sit at home and rest his knee. 

He finds Lori in the break room, filling up on coffee. 

With his own mug in hand, Danny says, “Hey, Lori, how are you this fine morning?” 

“I’m doing just fine,” she says, turning with a full cup. Shifting to let Danny pass, she asks, “How about yourself?” 

Well, that’s as good an opening as any. 

“I’d be better if I didn’t have to start this morning off with paperwork,” he says. 

“What’s the paperwork for? I thought we caught up with everything last night?” she asks, eyebrows raised. 

“The Governor wants us to file an HR form to declare our relationship,” Danny says, purposely playing the pronoun game. “My first task is hunting down the form because God forbid it be easy to find.” 

Lori scrunches her nose in confusion. “Since when do we need to declare our personal relationships?” 

“Well, it’s not all that strange. At HPD, it’s already mandatory. I was just hoping Five-0 would remain exempt, but c’est la vie. Honestly, I considered letting Steve fill it out, but without knowing what kinds of questions are on the form and how open-ended they are, I think it’s safer if I do it. Don’t want him writing smut in a government document just because he’s pissed at Jameson.” 

Her nose wrinkles a little bit more before the pieces come together. “Oh! You and Steve…are dating?” she asks with a cough at the end to clear her throat. 

"Yeah, it's weird, right? I mean, for the longest time, I thought he was flirting just because he knows it works for him. Helps him temper raw edges, and I'll be the first to admit that I'm not the easiest person to get along with. But, apparently, he was serious. Who'da thunk?" Danny resists a cringe. It's not his smoothest delivery. 

Lori's smile is weak as she congratulates him, and it's not the best sign that immediately afterwards, she asks, "Are you filling out the HR form because of Governor Jameson, or is your relationship already serious enough to influence your work?" 

It's a trap of a question. 

Blame it on the governor, and it means the relationship might not be solid enough to merit formalizing through paperwork. 

But the way the alternative is phrased implies that their relationship affects their work – which is true, because all relationships influence work, but it's not newly true. Nothing has changed. Their friendship started early, and it came with strengths and weaknesses out in the field. 

"I don't think the Bean Counters care what our relationship is like," Danny says, side-stepping the question as he fills his cup with coffee, "as long as they get their signed and dated piece of paper to add to their bureaucratic hoard." 

Lori nods, her expression still unsatisfied. 

As she makes to vocalize another question, Danny salutes her with his mug and says, "Let me know if you happen to come across that form," and then swans out of the room. 

 

Danny's predictions turn out to be spot on. 

As soon as Steve arrives at the office, the first thing he does is scold Danny for not resting his knee and try to persuade him to go home. 

And the second thing he does, just as Lori’s approaching Danny’s office, a sheaf of papers in her hands, Steve tries to swoop in for a kiss. Danny does a sidestep dodge and hands Steve a pen. “You, my friend, need to get better at having important conversations,” he mutters. 

Steve's confusion is brief as Lori knocks on the door pane. "Hey Danny, I found the form you were looking for," she hands him the pile. 

"Wow, this is ridiculously thick," Danny comments, as Steve leans into his space to look over his shoulder. "Thanks for tracking it down." 

"Sure, no problem,” she says, gaze shifting to Steve. “Congratulations on getting together.” 

Steve grins, even though her tone is rather flat. 

“Hey, does this mean Five-O gets to celebrate your anniversaries? We could try and make a case for a day off,” she proposes. “Are there any coming up? One week anniversary? One month?” 

She's fishing. 

Steve breathes in the air needed to form a response, but Danny cuts in with a non-answer. 

"If only! But given the fact that Jameson's purposely tightening deadlines in hopes of exhausting us into fatal ineffectiveness, I'd say we can kiss regular breaks and holidays goodbye. Let alone anything else." 

Lori's fake smile briefly clouds over with a hint of petulance at having her question ignored but she lets the conversation drop with a shrug and another congrats before heading back to her office. 

Watching her go, Steve quirks an eyebrow and tilts his chin towards Danny, as if to highlight that he's the main source of Steve's confusion. 

"You don't want her to know how long we've been together," Steve says. It's not a question. 

If he's expecting a token denial, Danny doesn't give it to him. "Look, babe, I know human emotions tend to be a mystery to you, but I promise you, the last thing Lori wants to hear is that me and you were a thing before she even got here. Hopefully, she's under the impression that you're an unabashed flirt and that you weren't just plying her for information from day one." 

Steve hums, clearly not too worried about what Lori thinks of him. "I can't believe you drove in today with your injured knee, just to head me off." 

"We have enough drama on this team without adding hard feelings into the mix," Danny says, punching his shoulder. 

Steve just shrugs. "One down, four to go." 

"Two," Danny corrects. "Doris and the Delano after effects." 

"What about the twins? And your discomfort with life becoming unpredictable?" 

"I'll schedule an appointment with a therapist tonight and I'll talk about those things along with the Delano stuff." And silently he adds Steve's danger-prone self and the inevitable side-missions to the list. 

Steve's brows scrunch up. "You'll tell me if there's anything I can help with," he says, no question to it. 

"I can agree to that," Danny says, hugging Steve's side till his pensive expression lightens up. “By the way, thank you for being predictable.” 

“What? How am I predictable?” 

“Choosing the Lori issue first, choosing to do the reveal with a kiss...” 

Steve grumbles as Danny pokes at him, but there’s a flavor of joy in his expression. “You know me so well. Sometimes, when I think back to that first day I met you, the headspace I was in, I can't believe the changes in myself. You’re responsible for most of them.” 

With a snort, Dannys says, "Yeah, I remember you in that elevator, consoling that scared little kid. 'Don't worry, I'm a cop'." 

"What is that voice? I don't sound like that." 

"Doesn't matter what you sounded like, babe. You were terrible with kids, almost as bad as your mom is with you." 

Steve's eyes go wide with shock, jaw clicking shut with a snap. His expression is confusingly blank, as if his Navy-installed processing unit of a brain is short circuiting. 

"Um, babe, you okay? I mean, you do know that's all in the past, right? If you're harboring any insecurities about your place in my kids' lives, you should probably mention them now so we can dispel them, because honestly, you're fantastic and those feelings would be entirely misplaced. Gracie loves you and Char...and the twins are guaranteed to love you, seeing how you'll be helping me raise them part of the time." 

Blinking back into the world with an intelligent, "Huh?" Steve catches the tail-end of what Danny's trying to communicate and waves a hand at it. "No, it's not that. I was just...hypothesizing." 

"Oh, do tell?" Danny prompts, leaning back against his desk. 

"Well, I was bad with kids. And then I met you and you taught me how to be good with kids." Steve quirks an eyebrow, like he wants Danny to finish the thought. 

"No," Danny says, immediately, because he can already see where SuperSEAL is going with this. 

"You didn’t even listen to my idea!" 

"Did it include something along the lines of me helping Doris figure out how to be a better parent?" 

Already pleading with his face, Steve tentatively says, "Yes?" 

"Then, nope, not happening. Because, see, I never got to the point where my kids were fully-formed, autonomous adults. I don't know how to parent an adult, ergo I cannot give advice on how to parent an adult." 

Catching one of Danny's agitatedly waving hands when it gets a little close to his ear, Steve leans back on Danny's desk, so they're shoulder to shoulder, and thinks for a second. Then, he asks, "Who are you more like? Your mom or your dad?" 

Danny scoffs. "You think it's a good idea to have our mothers conspiring against us?" 

But Steve's grin is infectious and his chest is puffed up at his own cleverness. "So, you're more like your mother?" 

"Well, yeah, I guess so. We're both..." 

"Loud?" 

Danny glares at him. 

"Nosey?" 

Danny punches him in the arm. 

"Cuddly?" Steve tries his luck a third time, wrapping Danny up in his ridiculously long arms. 

"You're an idiot. Also, there is no guarantee that my mother can fix Doris's parenting style," Danny warns. 

"I hardly think she could make it any worse." 

"True..." It takes a moment, but finally Danny sighs. "Fine, I'll call Ma. And I guess that settles which problem we're tackling next." 

Steve's stupid grin is so satisfied that Danny just has to kiss it. 

Of course, it happens to be right when Lori's passing by. 

Dammit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will this get rid of the Hawaii message that seems to appear in every chapter? I kind of hope so? Filler note.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The groundwork is laid to cleverly tackle Doris's missions, expectedly deal with Delano's after effects, and sneakily reduce Steve's danger-proneness. 
> 
> [x] Lori's ignorance of their relationship  
> [ ] Doris's missions  
> [ ] Delano after effects  
> [ ] Danny's discomfort with the changing future  
> [ ] The Twins replacing Charlie  
> And secretly, Danny's discomfort with Steve's hypothetical future solo-missions and dangerous behaviors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who left comments! They've meant so much, especially lately. I think I need to watch the news less often. 
> 
> (As much as I love watching the Young Turks, it's kind of painful to hear about how most people in Washington are bought and paid for by big corporations. Didn't know just how dystopian real life is until I heard them covering stories that don't get good coverage on mainstream news.) 
> 
> It's been a short couple of months and I'm still playing catchup. Sorry for taking so long with this. I feel bad that it's not longer given the time it took to write. Hopefully some new TED-talk-aquired tips will get the ball rolling on more regular updates. *Fingers crossed*

Convincing Ma to take on the Doris Project is (unsurprisingly) easy. After all, she loves Steve almost as much as he does. Maybe Steve's not totally off the mark in saying that some Williams are a bit nosey. 

"So, how are you going to go about it?" Danny asks, a little nervous. "Because I'm pretty sure Doris isn't going to appreciate a direct approach." 

"Oh, honey, you worry too much. Just leave it to me," Ma says, cheerily.

"But – " Danny hears the dial tone before he can continue. 

Danny finds Steve in the living room, cleaning his gun. As he leans into the wall with a sigh, Steve raises his head. "What's up?"

"If anything goes wrong," Danny warns, "just remember, this was your idea."

It takes Steve a moment to catch up, but seeing the phone in his hand, his eyes light up. "Your mom agreed to help?"

"Agreed? Um, no. She  _volunteered_. Couldn't wait to jump on this. I texted her Doris's cell number, by the way."

A soft smile dawn’s on Steve’s face. It's such a sweet expression that, for a moment, Danny feels caught. 

"I can't believe she'd do that for me,” he says, awed.

Danny snorts. " _Please_. She loves you almost as much as I do." 

Steve's smile gets impossibly softer. 

Are his eyes a little wet? 

"Could you tell her thanks and let her know how much it means to me?"

"Nope. Tell her yourself when you call her tomorrow," Danny says, dropping his phone on the table and falling onto the cushion beside Steve.

Only a few beats of comfortable silence pass, before Steve sees fit to elbow him.

"What?"

Cutting right to the chase, Steve asks, "Did you make the appointment?"

With an annoyed huff, Danny nods.

" _And_?"

"And what?"

" _And_ , when did you schedule it for?  _And_ , who's you're doctor?  _And_ – "

"And don't worry about it!" Danny tries not to snap. "I'm an adult, Steven. I made a promise to see a mental health professional and I'm going to follow through."

"I know that, Danno," Steve says, patiently. "I understand if you don't want me involved. Just – even if you're determined to do this alone, don't forget that I'm here for you?"

"That, my friend, is an impossible thing to forget," Danny says, nudging an elbow into Steve's side playfully.

 

Later that evening, Danny's driving back from Rachel's with Grace and her packed bag for the weekend. Over the course of the ride, he nearly bites through his lip out of indecision, because...he has a plan to encourage Steve to take fewer risks. 

A plan he'd need Grace's help with. 

But, is that too manipulative?

A part of him says,  _yes, definitely_. Pulling Grace into grown up problems is not good parenting.

But she's not your average preteen - so smart and she loves her Uncle Steve. There might be less worrying and hospital visits in her future if they manage to do this right. But is that a good enough reason to - 

“Danno? Is everything okay?”

“Of course, monkey. Why are you asking?”

Shrugging her little shoulders, she says, “It’s a little quiet.” 

“Danno’s just thinking about your Uncle Steve.” Maybe that’s the wrong thing to say.

Immediately, Grace straightens in her seat, suddenly on alert. “Why? Did something happen? Is he okay?” 

“ _What_? No. He’s fine, babe. Not a scratch on him.”

“Then, was he being a Neanderthal?” 

Danny snorts. Maybe it’s too late to pretend Steve doesn’t play an integral part in his kid’s lives. Enough that maybe it’s not that great a stretch to involve Grace in a mild intervention.Tentatively, he asks, "Hey, monkey, you know how I always complain about Uncle Steve being reckless?" 

"Yeah, sure Danno. You talk about it all the time."

"Well, what if there was a way to make him be more careful?"

"How?" She asks, eyes round with wonder. 

Christ, even his little girl knows it's nearly a lost cause.

"See, I had this idea, but I'd need your help..." Danny doesn't know if he should continue when he catches the devious little smile on his monkey's face.

"What do I need to do?"

With a sigh at his wailing better judgement, Danny lays it out for her.

Grace apparently wants to get started right away. Danny’s not even past the threshold when she launches herself at the couch, hollering, “Uncle Steve, Uncle Steve! Can we watch a movie together?” 

Steve rises and twists to catch Grace in freefall. “Of course we can Gracie,” he says, swinging her around as she squeals in delight. “What do you want to watch?”

Wriggling out of his arms, Grace crouches down next to the DVD shelf and scans the titles for the crazy, ridiculous action flick Danny recommended for their plan. “This one!” 

Eyebrows rising, Steve takes the DVD. “Um...really?” He flips the case to show Danny the cover, expression shifting in silent question. 

Because it would be suspicious if he outright agreed, Danny makes a show of frowning, glancing at Grace, then offering a shrug. 

And because Steve cares about Danny’s feelings, he makes a valiant attempt to dissuade Grace from her choice, rattling off all the Disney and Pixar movies in their collection and what he remembers from the Netflix animated offerings in an effort to entice her.

Grace remains unmoved. 

With a sigh and another glance at Danny, Steve eventually capitulates, popping the movie in while Danny gets the popcorn. 

The plan won’t work if Danny’s in the room, so he waits a good ten minutes before he pretends to get a phone call and moves off into the kitchen. 

It’s not long before explosions and gunfire echo through the house, accompanied by Grace’s cheering.

“Wow, that’s so cool! The way he jumped off that building! And then ran that bad guy over! And what he did with his gun!” She mimics the sound effects almost perfectly. "When I grow up, I want to be a cop like that." 

The declaration hangs in the air for a tense few seconds.

Well, tense for Danny, and probably Grace, because the plan hinges on Steve's response right here. If he just smiles, pats her head, and chalks up Grace's reactions as childish enthusiasm, or if he catches onto the deception, then the plan is toast.

Thankfully, for all his teasing about Danny’s overreactions, when SuperSEAL is forced to be a stand-in parent - particularly when the kid in-question is Grace - he's just as prone to fussy, overprotective motherhenning.

Hell, he's not much better with Danny.

Even once upon a time, sans relationship, he'd worried about Danny's frame of mind, his health, his habits. Now, he’s worse. Or better? Because Danny does appreciate it. This version of Steve is doubly invested in protecting his newly expanded family.

He does a silent victory dance in the kitchen when Steve haltingly tells his baby girl, “Police work isn’t like this in real life, Gracie. A lot of it is paperwork and following procedure.” though he can’t hold in his snort, Thankfully, the next action sequence blasting through the sound system masks the sound.

“But your job’s like that, right Uncle Steve? So, if I join Five-0, I can jump around like that and shoot bad guys while dangling from a helicopter?”

Peeking around the edge of the doorway, Danny spots genuine consternation on Steve’s face. Poor guy, but it’s not enough to deviate Danny or Grace from their mission. 

“It's true that Five-O is a little different from being a regular cop, but we also have to do a lot of paperwork, and Danno's constantly nagging about procedure,” Steve says, with a forced note of lightness. 

Danny can almost feel him craning his neck towards the kitchen, hoping Danny will step in.

“But that’s only some of the time, right Uncle Steve? The rest of the time, you get to fly air planes and crash cars into each other!”

“Oh, and how do you know all that, Gracie?” Steve asks, clearing his throat to discharge the strangled cat quality his voice has pitched to. 

“I saw you do it on the news,” she answers, cheerfully.

“Right, I guess there have been some cases – ”

“Only one every week, right Uncle Steve?” Grace interrupts his hedging. And that right there is 90% Rachel – clever. 

Too clever for Steve.

The man sighs, heavy. “Okay, yes, I do that kind of stuff a lot, but Danno doesn’t. And Chin doesn’t. It’s because I’m a Navy SEAL,” he tries.

“What about Auntie Kono?” Grace asks, in a tone that dares him to lie to her. “I saw her harpoon a boat and jump from one ship to the other, and then she –”

“It’s not like that all the time,” Steve says, with a note of desperation.

And then, because Danny’s little girl is brilliant, Grace says nothing. 

Silence. 

During which she’s probably just staring at Steve, watching him squirm. The thought of the scene unfolding in the living room is so tantalizing that Danny risks peeking into the other room. 

Yup, that’s a Grade-A squirm, right there, with a dash of head ducking, the barest blush coloring Steve’s sun-bronzed ears.  

“Okay, alright, maybe it does happen a lot.”

“More than it needs to?” Grace risks asking, but this is why Danny thought this plan might work. Because the paranoid, dog-with-a-bone SuperSEAL senses don’t ping with suspicion as she prods him to self-reflect. 

Instead, he goes thoughtfully quiet. 

A beat passes. 

Then two more. 

A new round of explosions blasting over the sound system finally brings his attention back to Grace and, miracle of miracles, Steve says, “Yeah, Gracie. More than it needs to.” And behind that admission, in that stoic, resolved tone, there’s a promise. One that Danny’s failed to extract time and time again. 

That this time, he’ll do better. Be safer.

Danny lets Steve sit with that promise, pinned in place at the heart of him by Grace’s deep, serious stare, before he comes back in with the popcorn.  


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some problems will take a lifetime to resolve, but it's knowing that progress is being made that counts. 
> 
> [x] Lori's ignorance of their relationship  
> [~] Doris's missions  
> [~] Delano after effects  
> [ ] Danny's discomfort with the changing future  
> [ ] The Twins replacing Charlie  
> And secretly, Danny's discomfort with Steve's hypothetical future solo-missions and dangerous behaviors
> 
> x - definitively resolved.   
> ~ - progress is being made, and sometimes that's all you can really say for the here and now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, we're encroaching upon the end. And, besides the topics in the summary, are there any plot threads or loose ends that feel unresolved / still need addressing? It's entirely possible something slipped through the cracks, so let me know if there are things missing.
> 
> Also, if you don't want to read the E-rated stuff, it begins in the section where Danny wakes from a nightmare and ends with a section where Doris returns. So, search on nightmare to see where to stop reading and search on Doris to see where to start up again ? 
> 
> And thanks to everyone who left a comment or kudos! It's really helped me stay on track for writing every day, even if I didn't make much progress some days. It's still leagues better than where I was before.

It’s not until after the hostage situation that Danny’s able to check his phone. Which is why he arrives at the hospital six hours after Rachel’s gone into labor.  

Thankfully, this time, Stan’s not away on business. He meets Steve and Danny in the waiting room, face pale, looking harried.  

“Everything alright?” Danny asks, already infected by the man’s visible nervousness.  

Raking a hand through his hair, Stan nods. “Yeah, I think so.” Then he shakes his head. “I’m not sure. Rachel kicked me out a while ago. Said I was stressing her out.”  

“You’re stressing  _ me  _ out,” Danny mutters, then more audibly asks, “Where’s Grace?”  

“I called the number Steve gave me. She’s with Kamekona.”  

On the edge of a rant and possibly an annoyed interrogation – because really? Since when is Kamekona their go-to babysitter? - Danny inhales sharp and deep.  

Before he can let a rip, Steve elbows him in the ribs, pushing the air back out, and steers both Danny and Stan into cheap, plastic chairs before sitting between them. 

“Good choice. Kamekona’s great with kids. And, I’m sure everything’s fine,” Steve says, patting Stan’s shoulder.  

“You really think so? This is my first time doing this.” Stan wrings his hands.  

“Oh, sure!” Steve spends a good twenty minutes posing optimistic hypothetical theories – about how the doctors are doing, how the babies are doing, how Rachel and the nurses are doing – until Danny's repeated poking gets him to stop trying to alternatively fill the silence and address Stan’s insecurities. (Apparently, the glares of the other waiting room patrons hadn’t been enough of a hint that his lively enthusiasm wasn’t entirely appreciated.) 

And once he stops, they turn their attentions inward, pondering or meditating or silently freaking out, and occasionally glancing at the close-captioned news playing on the TV in the corner. 

“Is that you guys?” Stan asks, at one point.  

When Danny doesn’t answer, Steve shows off just how many Williams’ storytelling techniques he’s adopted as he recounts the hostage negotiation debacle in (somewhat inappropriate) detail.  

This time Danny ignores the glares from the other patrons. 

In this manner, four hours pass.  

Finally, a nurse arrives at the desk at the head of the room. “Edwards?” she calls out. 

Stan springs to his feet faster than a jackrabbit. “Here.”  

She leads their single-file caboose down several hallways to Rachel’s room and offers a simple “Congratulations” as she swings the door open and steps aside.  

As the tail of the caboose, Danny enters the room last and stalls just inside the door. For hours (or, really, longer...like,  _ months _ ) he’s avoided thinking about the reality of this moment of truth, when the question of what all this means for Charlie might finally be answered. 

But time’s run out.  

There’s no more avoiding it.  

Sitting up in bed, Rachel’s holding two, thin wrinkly babies in her arms. She’s glowing, Stan’s teary-eyed, and Steve’s grinning, feelings swelling his chest. His eyes rove over the squirming babes, memorizing their faces mentally before he pulls out his phone and snaps a pic, at which point his eyes find Danny, still frozen in the entry.  

“Danno?” Sidling towards him, Steve raises an arm – a silent request for Danny to close the distance. 

Swallowing hard, Danny takes minute steps in Steve’s direction.  

The movement catches Rachel’s exhausted, bleary-eyed attention. “Danny,” she whispers, voice hoarse. “We have two, beautiful baby boys." And, bless her, but her gaze takes all three of them in.  

It warms his heart that, this time around, she’s acknowledging Steve and him as part of the family. Acknowledging their right to be here for this occasion.  

That warmth, though, is doused a bit with the chill of anxiety. “They’re beautiful,” he admits.  “Did you pick names yet?” 

Rachel hesitates. “We did, but I haven’t had the nurse apply them to the birth certificates. I wanted to ask, one last time, are you sure you don’t want to offer any input on our choices?” 

It’s a struggle to keep from viscerally shouting, “No!” There’s only one name stuck in his head and the last thing he wants is to name a little boy after the son he lost. If it’s out of his hands, he won’t be tempted. With hard-won calm, he shakes his head. “You’re the one who did all the work. You should pick their names.”  

Her gaze traces over the twins as she hums decisively. “In that case, meet your sons – Liam and Charles Edwards.”  

Breath catching, Danny leans heavily against Steve. “That’s...um...” His throat tightens up with mixed feelings, choking his voice. 

“Those are great names,” Steve saves, winding an arm tighter around Danny for added support. Although he doesn’t have practice making small talk, he asks about Stan and Rachel’s nursery and the au pair they’ve already got on standby for the day they’ll both go back to work at the end of their respective maternity and paternity leaves.  

For the rest of the visit, Danny doesn’t say much else. He’s too busy staring at his natal sons, wondering which one’s Liam, and which one’s Charles.  

“You okay?” Steve asks later. It’s afternoon and Five-0 has the day off following the hostage situation and the birth.  

“Just peachy,” Danny says, flipping TV channels till he finds a game, teeth already gritted against the follow-up question Steve’s eventually going to ask. Because he knows SuperSEAL so well, he recognizes the perfunctory request for a status update for what it is – a preamble to a larger discussion. They both know the answer is, emphatically, “No”, but he asks so that Danny knows the clock is ticking on how long Steve’s going to let him stew in negative feelings before he forces the issue. 

The clock, in this case, runs out at halftime.  

“On a scale of sad to heartbroken, what was your first reaction to hearing the names Rachel and Stan picked?” Steve asks. A couch cushion separates them - Steve’s attempt to give Danny space. 

He’s not sure he appreciates it.  

He doesn’t feel sure about a lot of things right now.  

So, Danny shrugs. “I’m all over the place, babe. I don’t think it’ll be productive to talk about it right now.”  

Steve’s limbs deliberately stiffen and relax. He’s doing some sort of zen voodoo to withhold his first pushy impulse. Danny’s noticed him doing it more frequently in the past few weeks and strongly suspects his mother’s influence. 

Ma’s really become something of a mediator for the McGarretts. Apparently, she regularly speaks to Mary, Doris, and Steve. Hour long phone calls, at least once a week. Usually, she’s teaching the three of them how to communicate and express feelings in a loving manner, but she must also be giving Steve tips on how to wrangle Danny.  

Not that Steve’s ever had too much trouble in that arena. 

These days though, rather than shouting their problems at each other, poking and annoying issues to the fore, they’re employing saner approaches – asking questions, offering support, and not getting angry. For the most part.  

Climbing an arm up and along the top of the couch, still without touching Danny, Steve asks, “Can you articulate some part of it? No matter how stupid or terrible or sappy you think your take on all this is, I’d like to hear it.”  

“I’m...I feel... _ hopeful _ , okay? A part of me is thinking, maybe there’s something to destiny. Maybe Charlie was meant for this world? But then, another part of me hates that thought. Guilty for wanting to replace one Charlie with another. There’s just...too many unanswered questions. I still don’t know what their birth means. Are the two of them together equal to one Charlie? Like, is one boy going to be half of Charlie’s traits, and the other one will have the rest? Or are they going to be completely different? Or, what if Charles  _ is  _ Charlie? What does that mean for the other little boy? Am I going to be able to love them the same, given how conflicted I am? And what if all my inner confusion taints our relationship? Or taints them? Kids pick up on things like that. Really intuitive. And I’m also worried I’m going to spend the rest of my life comparing them to what I lost. What if – ” 

“Whoa, stop, Danno! Take a breath.” Steve’s arm twitches on the couch, wanting to pull Danny in, but resisting. Determined to wait for Danny to come to him.  

Huh. 

Yeah, Ma and Steve are definitely in cahoots. He recognizes their end game. They’re trying to get him to evolve into a person who asks for help, reaches out for comfort, relies on other people. Starting with this.  

Rolling his eyes, Danny plays along. Shifting towards Steve in deference to the man’s twitchiness. “Like I said, I’m conflicted.”  

“Yeah, I know, babe,” Steve says, tugging his earlobe lightly, “but at least you’ve said it out loud. I think putting it into words will help in the long run.” 

And, holy hell, but he doesn’t say anything more.  

Tense, Danny waits for the other shoe to drop.  

Instead, they just watch the game. 

And Danny feels moderately better than before. Not remotely close to good, but still... _ better _ .  

Danny brings up Steve’s new strategy at his next therapy session. It’d be a lie to say he doesn't do it to run out the hour. It’s been a long week and he doesn’t want to talk about Delano again.  

Dr. Sycamore cocks a knowing eyebrow at him, but decides to go with it. “How do you feel about his new strategy?”

Danny shrugs. “He got it from my Ma, which I figure is a good thing. He gets to practice being less of a Neanderthal and I don’t have to deal with him poking at me every two minutes until I give him an answer.”

“How do you feel this will impact the quality of your communication with Steve?” 

Eyes flickering with exhaustion and aching for a nap, Danny sighs. He doesn’t want to talk about anything right now. If only he could just leave. “I think, if he manages to keep it up, it’ll mean  _ calmer _ conversations that span a few days instead of a few minutes, but I think we’ve always had reasonably good communication.”

“Have you ever discussed Delano and the things he did with Steve?”

“Not in detail.” 

“Do you think this new strategy will make it easier to have that conversation?”

“I’ve already told him everything he needed to know.”

“How did you go about deciding what he needed to know?” 

“Ok, geezus, look - all he needs to know is that I’ve got some issues to deal with as a result of the Delano incident.”

“You don’t want him taking part in your recovery?”

“No, no I don’t. I want to get over the shit Delano put me through and move on. So, can we try doing that? Let’s talk about Delano, now. Like you wanted.” 

Dr. Sycamore doesn’t smile smugly, but Danny’s pretty sure it’s a near thing. “Last week, our session ended with the visualization exercise. Have you been practicing the techniques we discussed?”

“Yeah, and I gotta say, playing back the memories in third person, and making everything in the scene smaller - particularly Delano - has made it easier to think about. Less personal,” Danny grudgingly admits. 

“Despite not knowing what Delano might have done to you while you were passed out?”

“Maybe it’s enough knowing what he didn’t do. He didn’t infect me with anything, since the tests all came back negative. I wasn’t injured in any telling ways.” 

Danny doesn’t tell her that thinking of the scene in third person just reinforces his belief that he should be over it by now, because, for the first time, it feels not too far off. He’s been “self-medicating” with exposure therapy - watching random kid’s shows on Youtube like Blues Clues, Mr. Rogers, and Bear in the Big Blue House because they do a lot of hushing and shushing in episodes as they tell kids to listen carefully, or help Steve and Blue creep through the house. Just hearing the noise ad nauseum has helped desensitize him to it.

(Also, it means he’s got a library of tolerable shows he can play Charlie and Liam in a few weeks when Rachel’s informed him that he’ll be getting the kids. All three of them. It’s a gift that he wants to be absolutely prepared to take the fullest advantage and enjoyment out of.)

And he’s been purposely turning his back on members of HPD he doesn’t know, trying to shuck the chill of unease at having someone in a uniform (like Delano’s) behind him. No longer does he immediately panic, jumping to the irrational assumption that someone’s going to circle around him or suddenly breathe on the back of his neck. 

The fingers in his mouth thing he hasn’t addressed yet, and it’s one of the ones he needs to. Not just because Steve has something of a fixation with his mouth, but because babies like to touch and tug on everything. 

Ears, hair, nose, lips - they learn the world around them through touch, and Danny can’t afford to freak out in that situation. Not only would a bad reaction increase the risk of dropping a squirmy baby, but it could also startle one of his kids, maybe scare away their confidence in exploring their physical environment. 

So, Danny decides, with great hate and trepidation, to admit, “I’m still having trouble getting past the memory of Delano’s fingers in my...mouth.” 

Dr. Sycamore’s mouth shapes into a smile, it’s edges softening from smug to proud. “Thank you for telling me Danny. How about we make that a priority, then, for this and subsequent sessions?”

“Yeah, that would actually be pretty good.” 

It’s definitely a turning point. 

  
  


The nightmares still crop up occasionally. Sometimes the whole debacle plays out in snapshots, sometimes it’s just pieces of it - choking on water, electricity jittering his bones, rubber in his mouth.

Thankfully, tonight Danny rouses from his sleep, so he’s not forced to see his nightmare through to the end.

Not so thankfully, Steve rouses right along with him, startled from his rest by the flail Danny had executed on entry back to reality.

“You okay?” he immediately asks, groggy and hoarse.

“Yeah, ‘s justa bad dream. Go back t’sleep.”

“You wanna talk about it?” Steve asks, already sitting up.

“Don’t even remember it clearly. Go back to sleep.”

“Are you going to the gym?” Steve asks, watching Danny get out of bed.

Humming, Danny considers it. He imagines getting dressed and driving to the gym in the rain, nodding to the guy at the front desk, then spending a few hours bashing sandbags and heaving metal...there are definitely nights when that whole process appeals. Tonight though, Danny doesn’t feel the internal turmoil that usually motivates his pursuit of physical, endorphin-granting relief. 

As he’s weighing the pros and cons, Steve shifts minutely, eyes flickering with an idea, but he hesitates.

“What’s up?” Danny prompts, nudging him with an elbow. 

Judging by the way his shoulders pull back, Steve’s come to a decision. Those stupid, long arms wrap securely around Danny, lift him up, and deposit him in Steve’s lap. 

It’s still mind-boggling that he can do that. 

So much so that Danny’s breath briefly outpaces his heart.  

“Instead of the gym, how about you let me distract you?” Steve asks against his temple in a volume that clashes with the silence of night. Ever since Delano, Steve never whispers when he’s behind him. Not even - or maybe, especially - when they’re pressed flush together. 

As much as Danny’s tried to keep his Delano related hangups to himself, Steve never stopped observing, and by now he’s caught on to quite a few. And, of course, he’s changed his behavior accordingly. 

It’s infuriating.

But in the past weeks, Danny hasn’t been in the position to argue. His stress had been too obvious to deny.

Now, though, it’s manageable. Enough that it’s high time that he start telling Steve, in the Neanderthal language of “doing” that he best understands, that he’s okay. Doing better everyday. 

“You wake up earlier than me to do your army exercises,” Danny points out, but it’s more a gesture of protest than a rejection. 

“Navy, Danno,” Steve corrects, as if Danny will eventually start saying it right so long as he never lets the purposeful mistake go uncorrected. 

Nudging Danny’s chin up with a questing nose, chasing a scent, he continues, “There have been times where I didn’t sleep for three days straight. Losing a few hours one night is nothing. If you’re feeling guilty, don’t. And if you don’t feel like having sex, you don’t need an excuse. I won’t be offended if you don’t feel like it,” Steve says, punctuating just how not offended he’ll be with another kiss to the temple.

“Well, in that case…” kissing the closest part of Steve within reach, which happens to be his forehead, “if you’re offering…” he trails off suggestively.

Steve wastes no time licking into his mouth. Even in the middle of the night, he tastes vaguely of spearmint because of the lethal mouthwash he prefers. 

Dammit. 

Why is kissing still so unpredictable? So...honestly distracting? 

As much as Danny wants to get right to proving he’s handling things well enough that Steve doesn’t need to be keeping those hangups in the back of his mind anymore, the loose semblance of a plan is put (and kept) on the back burner with Steve’s tongue.

One minute, Steve’s thrusting wet heat into his mouth, pointed and rough, like he wishes it was his cock sliding past Danny’s lips, but happy enough to make do with tongue-fucking till they get to that part. 

Then the next minute, it’s like Steve’s warming that single part of himself in Danny’s mouth and sucking greedily anytime Danny tries to pull away for more than a gasped breath. 

After which, he’s all teeth - nipping and tugging and biting the plump curves of Danny’s mouth - dark eyes growing hungry at the view as the rush of blood to strained skin plumps them more.

“You’re so pretty, babe,” Steve mumbles, in between unrelenting waves.

Danny’s so busy trying to stay afloat that he almost misses it. 

Almost. B

ut he does hear it and, predictably, blooms of heat grow downwards from his ears, coloring his cheeks and neck in a flush. 

Which amuses Steve endlessly as soon as he notices.

Danny tries to duck his head under a pillow, but Steve just chucks the pillow down the bed.

“Look at you, getting all embarrassed,” he teases, petting Danny’s reddened cheek.

“Shut up,” Danny mutters, but at least now he’s clear-headed. And Steve’s fingers are right there. Turning his head quickly, he catches Steve’s fingertips in his mouth and sucks them in deep, running his tongue along their ridiculous length to wet them better.

It’s something Steve hasn’t given him the opportunity to do since Delano, even though it’s one of his favorite things, as evidenced by his reactions. 

Exhibit A: Steve’s smirk disappears as his mouth pops open, a moan slipping out; his eyes dilated and staring.

“You sure this is okay, Danno?” Steve asks, still so damn concerned.

So, Danny pets Steve’s wrist and bobs his head in what he hopes Steve will understand as  _ Yeah, keep going _ .

“You’re killing me, you know that?” Steve says as he ducks his head to rub his stubbled chin lightly over Danny’s nipples.

When Danny gasps, he extracts his wet fingers and applies them soothingly to the roughed skin. 

Steve’s slow, meticulous exploration is a special kind of torture. One that Danny has little resistance against. 

“Can you p-pleassse not d-draw this out? J-just this one-once?” 

Eyes flickering with heat, Steve admits, “I don’t think going any faster is a good idea,” fingers still plying and rolling the points of Danny’s nipples.

“Wh-why not?”

“Because I’m distracted in this situation. I’m afraid that I’ll miss a signal. Go too far.” 

“How about you trust me to stop you if I’m uncomfortable?” Danny argues, even as part of him is cursing that, once again, they’re having an important discussion in the middle of sex. Why can’t getting off ever just be about getting off? 

“Can I trust you with that, Danno?” Steve asks, tone shifting, turning serious. His eyes hold Danny’s captive. “If you tell me I can, I’ll believe you. I don’t care how we fuck. Slow, fast, kinky, vanilla - as long as we both enjoy it, from beginning to end, I’m down. But can I count on you to communicate your needs?”

Danny takes a silent minute to consider it before nodding. “I’ll stop you - but I need you to really trust me. Even if you see a reaction that, on first appraisal, seems negative, I want your promise that you’ll keep going.”

Steve recoils.

Before he can adamantly deny the request, Danny silences him with a quick kiss. “Listen to me, babe. I want the freedom to have a negative initial reaction and have the chance to adjust before you put a halt to proceedings. Please? Can you give me that?”

Steve chews his lip, indecisive. “What’s your safeword?” he demands, finally.

“Chicken salad,” Danny says, grinning.

The phrase is like a starter pistol in a horse race. 

Steve takes off, like a man on a mission. Or, a man with something to prove - whether it’s to Danny or to himself is anyone’s guess.

Slick fingers swipe precum off their dicks and trace the fluid over Danny’s rim and into his ass, two fingers sliding home, wet and slippery the way they’d only be if they were coated in lube.

Except, where’d Steve get it? And when’d he apply it?

The thought slips away when Steve flips him over on the bed and raises Danny’s hips, fingers splayed over the back of his neck, petting over the knobs of his spine.

On elbows and knees, Danny doesn’t manage to catch a startled breath before Steve bites the meat of his shoulder and adds two more fingers, scissoring them so that Danny feels the muscles inside him clench at the stretch.

“You’re so good for me, you know that? It’s like you’re trying to coax me deeper. Even when you’re on edge and straining, this part of you is loose for me.” He thumbs the rim of Danny’s hole, fingers momentarily stilling as deep as Steve can get them, pressing with steady pressure against his prostate.

“Ngh...can you p-please…” Danny’s plea for Steve to stop teasing, and go faster goes unfinished as Steve removes his fingers and, in one move, slides his dick into the space he’d prepared.

With a shuddering inhale, Steve says, “You’re teaching me so much a-about p-patience, Danny. You’re expressions, your moans, the way you writhe under me, are a-all a value statement. You m-make patience worth it.” 

As his hips rock, and he finds a rhythm, Steve keeps plying him. Licking a wet stripe behind Danny’s ear, then tugging on the areola with his teeth and sucking it into his mouth, he mumbles against Danny’s ear, still quite a bit louder than a whisper, “You know, I almost regret calling you sensitive. Not because it isn’t true, but because I said it at work and now I can’t use that word anymore without thinking about you naked and spread out beneath me.”

Danny’s sure he has a response in his head clamoring to be let out, but the way Steve nudges his head up so he can lick a kiss into his mouth again derails him.

“Fuck, do you have any idea,” Steve continues, “how hot it is that you raise your ass up every time I pull away? It’s like you can’t stand to be so empty. Or the way that hungry mouth of yours is always just a little bit parted, as if you want me filling you from both sides. Or the way you’re unconsciously letting me lead, because I’m pretty sure you know I how much I love seeing you take direction. Hell, I’d even say a part of me needs it. Needs the security of knowing you’re willing to follow where I lead in this kind of a situation.” 

Steve’s hips stutter to a stop deep inside Danny and he shifts so that his cock caresses the tight walls of Danny’s insides, radiating waves of pleasure up his spine.

“Thank you, Danno, for giving me this even when our lives aren’t on the line. It may be stupid, but it goes a long way in satisfying the irrational part of me that’s always worried that some circumstance beyond our control is going to separate us.”

Goddammit. 

What kind of a person brings up serious pieces of conversation mid-coitus when it’s a struggle to focus on anything besides impending orgasm? 

Danny tries to formulate a coherent response. He’s wracking his brain in an attempt to keep hold of the thread. At the very least, Steve’s statement deserves acknowledgement. Danny’s had enough therapy and people droning on about active listening in his life, that he genuinely doesn’t feel right leaving the statement unresponded.

But as soon as he starts to talk, Steve speeds up.

He pounds into Danny, pace erratic, hands fondling Danny’s balls and stroking from root to tip. 

In no time at all, Danny finds his release with a startled shout, his thighs shaking. “S-St-Steve!” 

With a shudder of his own, and a few final thrusts, Steve empties into him, clutching at Danny’s hips so that they’re pressed painfully tight together. “So good for me, babe,” Steve murmurs, turning Danny’s head to press lips against his forehead. “Can you do one more thing for me, Danno?” his voice is low and seductive. 

Like he thinks he needs to persuade Danny into whatever he wants to request, which immediately makes Danny stiffen.

“Hey, it’s nothing bad,” Steve soothes, reading Danny’s apprehension. “Just me being selfish.”

Danny snorts. “If you’re about to ask me if you can go on a solo-mission, I’m kicking you out of bed.”

Nipping him reproachfully on the chin, Steve promises, “It’s nothing like that. You should know by now that I wouldn’t spring something like that on you in such a vulnerable moment.” Whether he does it consciously or not, Steve’s hand finds Danny’s heart and covers it protectively. 

“Okay, then what?”Danny waves a prompting hand.

“I want my cum in you for the duration of the night. And tomorrow, early in the morning, I want to feel you all loose, sticky, and dripping. How does that sound?” 

Danny doesn’t catch on until Steve produces a palm-sized box from under a pillow and flicks open the lid to show him the buttplug inside. “Let me?” he asks, voice full of want. 

Not that he’s planning to deny Steve such a simple request, but it’s not a fair question. How does anyone say no to Steve when he’s making that expression - eyes blown wide with desire, mouth parted, panting from the heat in his blood. He looks fit to devour Danny. Like tomorrow’s too long to wait for a second round, but since he’s being forced to by their mutual exhaustion, then at least he wants to have Danny ready - probably in more ways than one - as soon as they wake up. 

What makes up Danny’s mind, however, is that Steve doesn’t ask a second time. Doesn’t prompt for an answer. Doesn’t try to persuade or convince. He’s made his request, but in deference to Danny’s not-so-recent traumas, he doesn’t mention it again. 

Which, oddly enough, is not how Danny wants them to work. It’s a revelation to him, but he likes being convinced to Steve’s way of thinking. Not always, but in the situations where he doesn’t want Steve’s opinion, he generally doesn’t give SuperSEAL the opportunity to weigh in. And, if Steve wants something, Danny hates the idea that the man doesn’t feel like they’re in a place where he can plant a flag in the ground and try to cajole Danny towards it. 

In the spirit that it’s better to deal with issues as soon as possible, Danny says, “Convince me.” 

  
  


When Steve slides the plug in half an hour later, there’s significantly more cum, both on their sheets and in Danny’s ass, and his ears are cherry red and absolutely ringing from the sheer amount of ridiculous, embarrassing but hot, shit Steve’s finally back to whispering to him.

  
  


A few days later, Doris shows up with a bowl of cut up pineapple and a basket of baby things – blankets, bottles, diapers, teething toys, a rattle. 

Because Steve’s mornings are predictably occupied with exercise, he’s out on a run. Danny’s not naïve enough to think the timing of Doris’s arrival is accidental.  

After she’s congratulated him twice and asked about Grace and the twins, silence settles and stretches as Doris waits on the other side of the threshold patiently, instead of shouldering into the house like she still owns it. 

Several blinks later, Danny realizes she’s actually waiting for him to extend an invitation. Which just boggles the mind. It’s never happened before. Traditionally, Steve and Danny just find her inside or on the beach at odd hours. 

“Please, come in,” he says, taking the basket from her. It’s a lot heavier than it looks. “Did you fill the bottom of this with rocks?” he asks, delaying any expressions of gratitude in lieu of guessing at her ulterior motives, because there must be some.  

“I made some Peruvian groundcherry preserves. Thought they might go well with pineapple pancakes. Does that sound like a breakfast you boys would enjoy?”

It’s early on a Sunday and Danny’s not firing on all cylinders yet, so he immediately starts a rant about the prevalence of pineapples. “I swear, it’s like a Hawaiian obsession.” 

“...Is that a no, then?” Doris asks, hesitant. Already two steps closer to the front door, looking a lot less sure of her welcome. 

Oops. 

Waving a dismissive hand, as if clearing the air of his uncaffeinated rant, Danny gently takes her elbow and leads her towards the kitchen. “Hey, if you’re offering to make us pancakes, or even if you just wanted to leave us with a recipe, we’ll both appreciate the added diversity to our breakfast choices.” 

The confidence she usually carries like a mantle across straight-backed shoulders returns, along with a spring in her step, and a healthy smile. “If you’d like, we could make them together?”

 

Baking with Doris is a trip. She’s got plenty of stories to tell, of the quiet moments abroad that would happen between missions, of exotic animals and polluted riverbeds and oddball teammates. Each story is unique, weaved with threads of humor and suspense. 

She’s more relaxed than Danny’s ever seen her. And she seems so...genuine. Like she’s honestly enjoying Danny’s snarky commentary and the by-play that results.

At one point, they’re laughing so hard, that Danny doesn’t even hear the front door open. It’s only Doris’s slow shift to face the door, one hand creeping over to the block of butcher knives, signals to him that someone’s in the house. He forces himself to laugh a few seconds more, so that the volume decreases naturally rather than coming to an abrupt halt.

Thankfully, it’s Steve that rounds the kitchen doorway, hands on hips, breathing hard. “Mom, what are you doing here?” 

“Teaching your husband a new recipe.” 

“If only,” Steve says, cheerfully wistful.

“Har har.” Danny shakes his head. 

Ruffling Danny’s hair as he sweeps past, Steve asks, “What recipe?” He’s practically bouncing with excitement.

Ripping a corner off a pancake, Doris smudges it with preserve and shoves it in Steve’s mouth.

Wide-eyed, he chews the sweet confection, savoring not only the taste, but the very maternal gesture he’s been presented with. “It’s really good,” he says, after he’s swallowed. 

Sensing just how much this means to Steve, she turns away from the stove to hug him. “I’m glad,” she says, near a whisper, clearly not talking about the pancakes.

  
  
  
  


Rachel drops off the kids on a Friday evening. She’s hesitant to leave and keeps asking if Danny’s sure he can handle three kids at once, probably because Steve’s holding Liam like he’s made of a sea foam that will immediately collapse at the slightest pressure. His eyes are wide and he looks surprisingly more uncertain than when he’d first encountered - and been asked to babysit - Joan.

It takes some convincing on Danny’s part to get Rachel to drive away. 

Admittedly, if this was the first time around and he didn’t already know how capable Steve could be with children of all ages, he’d be having doubts too.

After Danny’s ushered everyone into the house, they settle the boys into a double-wide crib while Grace starts on her homework at the dining room table.

Neither of them are keen to leave the room, even though the boys are drowsy, eyelids blinking as their tiny hands twitch closer together, baby fingers lightly grasping at each others’ footie pajamas. 

“They’re so small,” Steve says, awed. Tracing a finger down the slope of Charles’s nose,  he seems shocked just how much ground he covers with just the pad of his forefinger. 

“They’re babies, Steven. Surely you’ve seen some before?”

“Yeah, but they weren’t a part of my family. How do you protect someone so helpless? So fragile?” he says, like it’s a serious conundrum he’s been pondering.

“With lots of questions and lots of help,” Danny says on his way out.

“Are you sure they’re not too hot?” Steve asks, checking their foreheads again.

“Their jammies are thin enough so they don’t overheat and the digital thermometer will ping our phones if it gets too warm in here,” Danny says, pulling Steve along with him.

Poor superSEAL still looks conflicted. 

It takes a whole hour before he stops glancing at the stairs like he wants to go check on the boys. It’s only once Grace gets to the math and chemistry parts of her homework that his attention finally refocuses. 

Danny on the other hand, doesn’t stop grinning for the rest of the night. Because nothing’s as sweet as Steve dedicating his time to the kids. Rather than watching the game that’s playing on low, he can’t tear his eyes away from Steve kneeling on the floor, leaning over the coffee table, penciling notes in Grace’s notebook as he’s explaining some theorem. 

How’d he get so lucky?

He consciously doesn’t let his thoughts stray to his once upon a time. There’s no point wondering what could’ve been in a life he’s not living anymore. 

  
  


Just because Ma’s taking the lead in transforming Steve and Doris’s relationship doesn’t mean that Danny’s on the bench. The next day, he calls her over to the the house, ostensibly to help them with the twins.

She agrees easily, but there’s a strange note of apprehension in her voice.

For the first half of the day, it’s not clear why it had been there when Danny called, because Doris has great Granny instincts. 

She plays rocketship with the twins and tickles their tummies till they’re squirming with laughter, and makes Grace feel important and included by teaching her all the tricks to entertaining her new brothers, almost like a tutorial on how to become their favorite person.

When it’s time for the twins’ nap, she sings them to sleep with a lullaby and then proceeds to bake cookies with Grace and Steve, directing them both through a recipe Danny recognizes from his Nana’s personal recipe manuscript. 

Normally, all of this might’ve pissed Danny off - controlling McGarretts directing what activities they engage in over the weekend is not something he always has a high tolerance for -  but the way she defers to him and Steve for approval of the day’s agenda and immediately incorporates their input, allows them to feel like the parents.

It makes for a wonderful day.

With the evening, however, Doris’s unease returns.

Over dinner, she keeps checking her phone, reaching out and swiping at the glass to bring up the summary page on the lock screen, sometimes without even looking over. Whatever she’s catching in her peripheral vision doesn’t soother her, but neither does it make her more nervous. 

Not until the kids are all tucked into bed and they’re at the kitchen table, sharing a nightcap, does she seem to get the notification that finally changes the tone of the evening. 

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks, point blank. 

This would normally be the moment where Doris obfuscates, hiding problems and intentions beneath layers of wispy lies specifically designed for them to see through so that they can question her further and offer help. 

Whatever magic Danny’s Ma has been spinning on the McGarrett’s must be potent, though, because this time she describes to them a case she’s working on for the C.I.A. She shows them the notification, which happens to be just a google map pin marker stuck in the far reaches of Mongolia. “I never thought there’d come a time when I’d be investigating pollution levels and climate corrupters. And in the far East, of all places.” 

“How serious is this?” Danny asks.

“Government officials, corporate oligarchs, oil barons, the Russian mob - they’re all involved on different levels. One of the biggest problems is that they’re hoarding fresh water resources while relaxing environmental protection laws and standards. Or, in the cases where they’re keeping the regulations so that the UN stays off their backs, they aren’t providing a means of holding companies accountable. As a result, rivers and waterways are being polluted, local populations are dying young, kids are being born with defects, and at the same time, these privileged families are buying up environmentally safe zones so that they can escape the harmful effects their own companies are responsible for.”

“And the C.I.A. cares about this? Since when?”

“In some areas of the world, water wars have already begun. Desertification is spreading. And our government is starting to realize that the conflicts of the future are more and more likely to be over renewable resources that have stopped renewing. It’s also the reason desalinating plants and hydroponics labs are cropping up all over the place.”

“So, they’re sending you to investigate the environmental conditions of outer Mongolia?” 

“Conditions, sure - I’ll need to measure them while I’m there - but also the different groups of people involved. How much influence do they have? What are their plans for the future? Can they be hindered in any way…” she actually looks a little tired thinking about all of the data she needs.

With a conflicted hum, Steve says, “Sounds like you could use some help.”

Danny feels Steve’s glance like a physical hand on his shoulder. It’s a struggle to meet his eyes, but Danny manages it. As much as he doesn’t want to, he answers the question in Steve’s eyes with a nod. 

Not that it’ll change the result, but Danny appreciates the way Steve’s eyes narrow, as if to say,  _ Are you sure? _

He nods again.

“It’s okay, Steven. This shouldn’t be too rough a mission, and I’ve got contacts in Taiwan that I can reach out to for hel- ”

“Nonsense. We’re family. You can trust us to have your back. Right, Danno?”

The implication of Steve’s words don’t hit him until after he says, “Of course, Doris. You’re not alone in this.” Then it’s his turn to narrow his eyes at Steve.  _ You mean, we’re doing this together? _

Steve’s wink isn’t answer enough.

  
  


Later, when they’re getting ready for bed, Danny asks, “What did that wink mean?”

Steve’s expression is puzzled. “We talked about missions a while back, remember? That we’d work as a team whenever possible, and in the cases where I have to go alone, I’d be sure to keep you in the loop and check-in regularly...any of that ring a bell?” 

Danny scoffs. 

Though they’d talked about it in vague terms, it hadn’t been nearly that detailed of a discussion.

“You  _ did _ give me permission, right? I didn’t misinterpret that nod?” Steve asks, with actual concern. 

“You didn’t misinterpret. I’m just...impressed. Guess I’m just not used to you including me in this stuff without pushback.” 

Steve’s palm finds the back of his neck, his grip supportively warm. “We’re in this together, Danno.” And then he has to go and ruin it with, “After all, what are husbands for?” 

Elbowing the idiot in the ribs, Danny says, “You’ve barely known me two years, Steven.”

Steve scoffs this time. “Name one thing, besides death, that could break us up?”

For the life of him, Danny can’t think of an answer. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some problems will take a lifetime to resolve, but it's knowing that progress is being made that counts.
> 
> [x] Lori's ignorance of their relationship  
> [x] Doris's missions  
> [x] Delano after effects - in that, forgetting is when he's no longer a thought or a consideration in moments where, once, he might have been  
> [x] Danny's discomfort with the changing future  
> [ ] The Twins replacing Charlie  
> And secretly, Danny's discomfort with Steve's hypothetical future solo-missions and dangerous behaviors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter left. If something that's been crossed off my list doesn't seem fully resolved, if you know of a thread I've left hanging loose, there's still a chance to fix it. (Although, if we really need to, I suppose Timestamps can be used) But as it stands, all that remains is the conclusion / one last conflict to resolve. 
> 
> Also, I've got a twitter account now. @GHillsides  
> Don't know what to use it for, yet. Probably have to look up some etiquette / pitfalls. If you know of any, I'd appreciate a heads up from anyone more familiar with the platform. 
> 
> And thanks again for all your continued support. It's really motivating to get feedback, to know what stuck out, to hear what could be improved. Thanks so much! ^_^

The duplicate mission briefs Doris hands them are detailed. When they ask questions, she answers without hesitation,  _ and _ the plans include both the parts that Steve and Danny will be helping with and the parts that are just for Doris - the months of pre- and post- mission work that entails nailing down strategies, bolstering contacts, making new connections...essentially, everything that involves meticulous documentation and would never make it into the script of  _ Die Hard. _

Point is, she trusts them with her plans. 

For Danny, his general feeling could be described with a shrug.  _ Great, cool, glad that to be a part of this super secret spying (not really). Just call us when the time comes for kicking ass and doing crazy stunts, and unfortunately we’ll be there _ , he thinks but doesn’t say.

For Steve though, this is a whole nother ball game. As he flips through the details about hideouts, aliases, secret gun caches...he’s tearing up. It’s plain on his face just how much it means to him that he’s got a treasure trove of C.I.A. documents in his hand, willingly placed there by his mom. 

Without pleading.

Without arguing or convincing.

Without having to deduce her plans from her mannerisms.

Without discovering she’s disappeared - been gone for weeks. 

So, he says, with great optimism and undertones of appreciation, “Name the time and place and we’ll be there.”

  
  


And when the time comes, they are. 

  
  


Despite his continued work at the gym, Danny is regrettably not a ninja yet. Or, at least, not super-secret-spy level ninja. 

Unfortunately, this means he’s stuck monitoring the mission, which equates to tracking dots on a radar screen as Doris and Steve progress through a chemical compound after hours.The passive observation inspires flashbacks of Afghanistan. A part of him is convinced shit is going to hit the fan. To the point that a chill spreads under his skin, down to his guts, hardening his insides and leaving him on pins and needles.

Thankfully, one of the agents sharing space with him in the surveillance van gets a phone call about a deal going down a few blocks over, on the roof of an administrative building located within the confines of company campus. 

With broken, staccato English, he provides Danny with instructions on how to fly a silent drone with a mounted camera set to record video and points to an adjacent building on the map stuck up on the interior wall of the van. For the next 20-odd minutes, Danny’s kept distracted with trying to keep the drone hidden within the shadows as he remotely searches for a spot that has both good cover and vantage, all while he’s listening for gunfire over the headset. 

Someone “up there” must be as tired of creating chaos as Danny is of experiencing it, because everything goes off without a hitch. 

  
  


Later in the evening, the three of them are in a hotel room, paperwork, documents, photographic evidence, and accounting records spread across two beds and the desk in the corner. They clink shots of vodka from a bottle of mint-flavored Finlandia and, after that, the stories flow freely.

About Doris’s experience becoming a mother when there were dangerous men tracking her whereabouts. 

About Steve, as a kid and the trouble he got into on a regular basis, even without Mary’s interference. 

About the crazy, ridiculous Williams brood and the shenanigans they got up to when left to their own devices. 

It’s organic, (slightly adrenaline-fueled) bonding.

Which Danny thinks is great.

But Steve? Steve’s over the fucking moon. His smile? Face-splitting. And that level of joy on the man’s face is a thing of beauty. It makes any nerves, worries, hassles, or pain-inducing moments worthwhile. 

  
  
  
  
  


Weeks later, standing in his office in the early hours of the morning, (or the late hours of the night), Danny stares at the “Storage Container of Half-remembered Things” as he sips hot, mulled wine out of a coffee cup. There’s music playing softly through his computer speakers, as he debates whether he still needs all the information he scavenged from his memories of once upon a time. It’s been almost a year since the last recognizable case, and within the chest are reminders of things that have already been addressed. 

It should be the easiest thing in the world to toss the stuff associated with those cases.

*Surprise!* It’s not. 

In fact, a low level anxiety twists his guts at the thought of tidying the trunk of memories. He stands there, trying to melt the chill clawing up his spine with heated, spicy alcohol, in the hopes that it’ll mellow his nerves enough to let him fulfill his New Year’s Resolution. 

His concentration is so tied up that, by the time he notices Steve leaning against the open doorway, the man looks settled in, as if he’s been there, in that position, for a while. “How long have you been loitering on my threshold?” Danny asks, startled.

The crease in Steve’s brow is a testament to his concern. “Long enough to wonder if you’ve got vision problems. You okay?”

With a sigh, Danny gestures at the trunk. “I’ve been meaning to toss some redundant physical reminders.” 

“Harder than you thought it’d be?” Steve guesses, switching from leaning in the doorway to leaning against the desk. For good measure, he lassoes Danny about the waist and tugs him into the V of his legs so that Danny’s back is flush against his chest. 

Suppressing a shiver of lust, Danny grumbles his frustration. “I don’t know why I’m having so much trouble. I mean, the cases are over and done with. I’m not a sentimental person. I don’t like trinkets or trophies lying around. So, why is this so hard?” 

Steve hums against his ear. “Pick something related to an old case out of the chest,” he says, dropping his arms so that Danny can move. When Danny doesn’t immediately obey the directive, he pushes him gently towards the container. 

With a sigh, Danny digs through the trove before pulling out a file and a plastic bag with a matching date printed on the front, then presents them to Steve. “What do you want me to do with this?” 

“Picture throwing it away. How does that make you feel?”

Closing his eyes, Danny imagines dumping the file in the trash. Immediately, a pit forms in his stomach. What if there’s something he’s missed? What if this case is related to one in the future? Police departments keep old information in databases for exactly that reason. Without realizing he’s doing it, Danny’s shaking his head. 

Steve pokes him into verbalizing his thoughts, then crosses his arms afterwards, a thoughtful look on his face. “This doesn’t seem related to your fear of an unpredictable future.” 

“Yeah, I’ve mostly gotten over that. The longer it’s been since we had a hit on a past case, the more I’ve gotten used to doing fresh investigations.” 

“So, this is more like...the cop version of hoarding?” 

Danny’s eyes narrow. “Says the guy who still futzes with the toolbox full of your dad’s old investigations, even though I told you what all of them meant.” 

For a moment, Steve looks fit to argue, but a deep breath in and he thinks better of it. “Why don’t we just scan in all your notes and take photos of the toy reminders?”

“That...sounds reasonable,” Danny says, somewhat awed to feel his panic subsiding. “But,  _ we _ ? You offering to help?” 

Steve catches Danny’s belt with two fingers and reels him back in. 

For a brief moment, with alcohol-heated blood and muzzy thoughts, he’s transported back to the beginning - standing in this position, between Steve’s legs, with his unfairly looming, entirely precious best friend suddenly returned to him.

Reflexively, he throws his arms around Steve and holds him tight. “I love you,” he whispers against Steve’s neck. 

“Wha- hey!” Steve palms his cheek and forces his eyes up, catching his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, really. Just...do you remember us standing like this? Except we were in your office and I was telling you a crazy story about dreams that predict the future and, for all that we knew each other better than we knew most people, we didn’t know this.” Danny traces Steve’s mouth with a fingertip. 

“Yeah, Danno, I do.” He tilts his head, curious. “What made you think of it now?”

Glancing down at the fingers Steve’s still got wrapped around his belt, Danny cocks an eyebrow.  _ What do you think?  _

“Ah.” With a Cheshire grin, Steve tugs Danny all the closer. And with one hand, he unclasps the buckle and slides the belt through the loops.

“Hey, no!” Danny pinches Steve’s side. “We’re at the office.”

“It’s two in the morning. I sent the team home hours ago and custodial services finished just after midnight.” 

“I thought we were going to digitize these?” Danny waves a plastic bag half-heartedly.

“At _ two in the morning _ ?” Steve scoffs. “Nope, that’s not happening.” 

Danny catches Steve’s hand as it’s unbuttoning his shirt. “Ok, then we can leave it for tomorrow. In which case, we should go home.”

“But home is so far away,” Steve says, all soft and persuasive, as he nuzzles into the crook of Danny’s shoulder. 

“I hope you’re not suggesting we sully the sanctity of Five-0 Headquarters with sexy times,” Danny says, still managing to sound reproachful even as he tips his head to let Steve lick a trail along the arch of his neck. 

“Sully Five-0 Headquarters? No, that would be a downright travesty. There’s not enough time to cover that much ground. Not to mention, Chin and Kono would kill us. I think we’d better limit the sullying to just this office,” Steve says, before stealing Danny’s mug of now lukewarm wine and quickly flipping their positions, so that Danny’s the one perched against the desk.

“What are you doing?” he asks, suspicious. “If there’s even the slightest notion in that Neanderthal head of yours of knocking the office supplies off my desk so that you can use it for libidinous purposes, I suggest you rethink your plans before you end up relegated to the couch for the next month.”

“So many big words.” Steve smirks. “Dare you to string them together a minute from now.” 

“We’re not doing,” Danny watches Steve take a swig of mulled wine before he drops to his knees, taking Danny’s pants and boxers down with him, “this.” It’s the last coherent word he can manage for a while because, for the first time, Steve doesn’t spend half an hour teasing. His lips slide over the head of Danny’s cock almost immediately. 

But Danny’s starting to suspect that he’s being manipulated. Not in a mean or malicious way. Just, a possibility suddenly dawns on him - an inkling of a suspicion that maybe Steve is trying to one-up every sexual experience Danny’s ever had, with men and women both. Maybe he’s trying to ensure that every encounter includes at least one, good unique element. As if Steve has any need to further solidify their relationship. 

No more cement needs to be poured over the steel and iron, concrete and bedrock foundation they’re relationship rests on. 

However, Danny is fully aware just how competitive - and, dare he say,  _ childish _ \- his partner can be. If anyone would remember that Danny had experiences in the past with other men, it’d be Steve. It’s not impossible that he could, even to this day, be engaging in an asinine, one-sided competition with Danny’s memories of other sexual encounters in an effort to be considered the best in each category. 

What prompts these thoughts in the heat of the moment? 

Well, the fact that even a simple blow job isn’t a simple blowjob. 

Steve’s mouth is warm, and incredibly wet. As in, there’s more than just saliva and cock in his mouth. 

Danny feels heated wine glide along oversensitized skin in strange and unfamiliar caresses, the suction and pressure changing sporadically. He’s completely unprepared for the unexpected sensations. He’s left shaking against the desk, his arms barely holding him up as his perch grows ever more precarious. 

He feels almost naive for expecting a simple blowjob, but they’ve been together for a while. One would think Steve’s creativity would run out. 

“God, wh-what are you doing to m-me?” Danny whimpers as Steve continues not to swallow - just swashing and suckling till Danny’s a mess. And when he finally  _ does _ swallow, it’s in earnest.

Danny’s on the edge, every nerve electrified. He’s not close, he’s  _ there _ . He’s about to issue the warning that he’s going to cum in case Steve wants to pull off, when he feels something tighten around the root of his cock. 

“Wait, wh-what  _ are _ y-you doing?” he stutters between panting breaths, hips twitching to break the circle of Steve’s fingers constricting his base. 

“We’re not done,” Steve promises, leaning in for a kiss. 

“Mean,” Danny whines against a shoulder. 

“Can’t end what could be our only shot at office sex with a single blowjob,” Steve counters, nuzzling under Danny’s chin with enough pressure that it’s like he’s shepherding backwards.

“ _ Not _ on the desk!” 

“Shh, relax. Your desk is safe,” Steve says, long fingers curling under Danny’s thighs, then, gripping tight, he pulls him up, off the desk. 

“Hey!” Startled, Danny’s legs tighten around Steve’s waist, arms closing around his shoulders. “A little warning would be nice!”

“Don’t worry, Danno. I won’t drop you,” Steve says, carrying him to the couch against the office wall. He sits down with Danny in his lap and pulls something from one of his many cargo pant pockets. 

“When you go through airport security, do they make you take off your pants and run it through the x-ray machine?” 

“Would you enjoy seeing me half-naked at the airport?” 

Great. Instead of Steve blushing, it’s him getting red in the face, his mind unnecessarily providing him with the visual of them standing around the screening area with their clothes all over the floor at Daniel K. Inouye International. 

Handing him a tiny bottle, Steve snaps him out of it. 

“What’s this?” 

Rather than answering, Steve lets him read it. 

The label is in German, but the directions and ingredients are translated. What he gathers is that the bottle contains lube.  _ Stimulating _ lube.

“What do you think?” 

Danny hums. “You didn’t want to safe word this?” He feels Steve kneading his ass, impatiently.

“A safe word is veto power. You can’t really veto lubricant once it’s applied.” 

“What if I say no?”

“I’ve got regular lube in my other pocket.” 

The ingredients seem relatively mundane, but they’re things like mint, niacin and arginine which Danny vaguely remembers seeing on energy drink labels. “What does this feel like?”

Steve shrugs. “Dunno. We can start small and go from there?” 

As Danny hands the bottle back to Steve, he can’t help feeling like a slacker for never being the one suggesting ways to expand their sexual horizons. Or...maybe he was wrong earlier. Maybe this isn’t Steve trying to one-up the memories Danny has of past relationships. “Are you bored?” he asks, as Steve’s pouring the lubricant into his palm. 

Surprised, if not flabbergasted, he almost spills. “What?! Is that what you’ve been thinking? For how long? Do I look bored? Have I ever looked - ” 

“Whoa!” Danny holds up a hand. “It was just a question. A passing thought.”

“Was it really?” Steve demands, absolutely serious.

“To be honest,” Danny seesaws a hand, “it’s more like 50/50. Just, we’ve been together for a while and I’ve never had the pleasure of seeing you in a long-term relationship.”

“So you don’t think I can sustain one?” Steve’s not angry or upset. If anything he looks a little worried. 

Dammit.This time it’s Danny’s fault they’re about to have another serious conversation when both their dicks are hard and leaking. He should’ve left this can of worms for later. 

WIth a sigh, he explains, “I’ve never had a successful long-term romantic relationship. You know me, Steven. I’m prone to self-doubt and overthinking. It’s bound to come up every so often, but I hope you won’t take it personally. The thought just crossed my mind because usually people turn to experimentation when they’re bored with the status quo.”

Steve shakes his head. “We’re not experimenting here, Danno. We’re building a life together. When I pull out new things for us to try, it’s because I want to try an infinite number of things with you in a finite amount of time.” 

Translation: even though he’s reckless, he knows he’s mortal. Everyone’s clock runs out eventually. Of all things, Steve’s worried. 

“Is this because of what happened in my...dream?” 

Steve kisses his forehead. “Even if I’d lived a long, full life in your “dream”, that wouldn’t be any guarantee for this time around. All I want is to make the best of the time we have. Whether it’s till tomorrow or fifty years from now.” 

“Sixty,” Danny corrects.

“Or sixty.” 

“No, seventy,” Danny corrects again, as if he can haggle the years they have left together on this earth.

This time, Steve pinches his nipple - probably to distract him - but he does it with lotion-coated fingers. 

Nerves light up under and around the lubricant Steve’s rubbing into his skin with caressing circles. At point of contact, Danny feels an initial chill raise gooseflesh along his arms before his chest starts to heat. Biting his lip hard to keep the embarrassing moan in, Danny’s shocked by how fast his body reacts. 

“No biting,” Steve says, thumbing Danny’s lip from between his teeth. Before Danny can ask,  _ why not, _  Steve starts up a litany of praise and compliments - the kind you wouldn’t give a person in public. 

Blowing puffs of air against Danny’s skin, he says things like, “Wow, look at how quickly your nipples are hardening. I don’t even have to touch you.” Though he touches anyway. Plucking and pinching at his nipples, smoothing the lotion deeper into the skin. 

A relishing torment, but a torment all the same. 

There’s no reason for Steve to be left out. The man’s Neanderthal proclivities should mean lubricants like this are just up his alley. 

Since Steve’s got a palm-full of lotion, Danny dips his fingers in, like a painter priming a brush, and tugs Steve’s collar down to where he can spread a thin layer along the peaks of his chest. It’s gratifying to here him groan. “D-dammit. This is going t-to be shorter than I thought.”

“I wouldn’t mind if-f you spe-sped up the p-pace.” 

“Still using the lo-lotion?” Steve swallows hard, eyes rolling back for a second as Danny matches his ministrations to fit the pace he’d prefer.

“Sure. The effect is intense, but not so much that I think it’ll irritate m-more sensitive a-areas.”

Predatorily pleased, Steve grins with all teeth. 

Danny’s basically naked.Only his shirt, hanging askew, mostly unbuttoned, remains, giving Steve easy access. As one would expect, he’s very liberal with the lotion, twisting a coated hand up and down both his and Danny’s dicks till they’re both slick. Then, he works a finger in Danny’s ass. 

It’s...a very odd feeling. First cold, then hot - almost like the kinds of therapies he’s tried on his bum knee, except from the inside.

In “retaliation”, he smears the lotion on the lobes of Steve’s ears and smooths some to parts of the trapezius he can reach.

Apparently, this stimulating lotion is good for more than just amplifying sensations. Steve, blessedly, speeds up again. Working in two fingers, then three. Finally, struggling for patience, he helps Danny lower onto his cock.

Neither of them last very long. Between the messy kissing, accidental (?) spread of lotion as they hold and pet each other, and the way gravity drags Danny down, onto Steve’s dick at just the right angle, making him clench around Steve in a way that inspires wimpers from SuperSEAL, they’re done in a few minutes. 

They collapse together, Danny onto Steve, and Steve onto the couch, twisting so that they’re lying like a sandwich with only dressing between slices.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It’s doubtful they’re going to make it home tonight. The soporific combination of alcohol, sex, and sleep deprivation have Danny losing consciousness fast. The last thing he feels is Steve tugging a blanket from beneath him and lazily throwing it over them. 

Danny tries to protest. To say they should at least get dressed. 

When a yawn interrupts him mid-sentence, he gives up. 

  
  
  


Light wakes him in the morning - heat and brightness both working in tandem to interrupt his sleep. It takes a moment to realize that he’s on the couch in his office, Steve still lying beneath him. With all his stupid muscles, Steve makes for a lumpy, angular mattress.

Bleary eyes half-open, Danny peers over the side of the couch, wondering if he’d be better off sleeping on the floor. It’s darker down there, and more level...he starts to move when the light suddenly catches his hand. The glint of gold stops his progress.

It’s...a wedding band. On  _ his _ finger. 

He’s not sure how to feel about this. He can’t imagine taking it off and putting it in Steve’s cargo pants, where the little box must be. Explicitly handing it back to Steve and telling him,  _ Thanks, but no thanks - I kind of hated being married and see no reason to do it a second time _ , seems equally taxing. 

He doesn’t want to see hurt bloom in Steve’s eyes. Or, really, he doesn’t want to hurt Steve, whether it’s made visible for him to see or Steve buries it in a mental compartment to be stored till kingdom come. 

“Don’t say no,” Steve rasps against his hair.

“You’re awake.” 

“Have been for a while.” 

“Army teach you to wake with the sun?” Danny asks, because the further they stray from the problem, the greater the chance he can ignore it till tomorrow.

“Don’t do that. Just say what you’re thinking. No use avoiding inevitable conversations,” Steve says, stroking down his back.

“I’m thinking you didn’t ask me anything, so I don’t have anything to say no to.”

Just because their internal clocks made them wake up this early doesn’t mean they’re rested, so Steve’s growl is only half-hearted. Like he knows he should be frustrated with how this conversation’s going, but he doesn’t have the energy to act on it. 

Then there’s a minute of silence as Steve probably runs some strategy simulations in his head. He must have confidence in the response he settles on because, energized, he fires back with, “This is a smaller commitment than the microchip tracker you agreed to.” 

“Is it really in your best interest to remind me of all the insanity I’ve already agreed to for your sake?” 

“Think of the benefits, Danno,” Steve says, persuasive and cajoling. “Lower taxes, dual income, the veneer of stability that looks good in front of a judge in case of custody battles, a greater inheritance for our kids - “ 

Steve looks set to keep going, but Danny’s already convinced. 

He said  _ our _ kids. 

That’s really the most important part. 

“Fine, you have your yes.” And he shuts him up with a kiss. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> C'est la fin.   
> Koniec.  
> The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No promises, but out of curiosity, which one is more interesting? 
> 
> \- Android Steve x Disappointed cop Danny  
> \- Dystopian McDanno (might be slightly infuriating)

The first indicator, unsurprisingly, is the hair. 

As the months pass, Liam remains towheaded while Charles’s hair begins to darken into brown. 

Danny doesn’t mean to obsess over it, but he’s not very successful. Often at bed time, he stands over their crib, drifting a hand over their little heads, touching silk strands with conflicted fingers. He’s not sure whether he wants to see traces of Charlie in his boys, or if he’d feel better if they were incomparably different.

Regardless, he’s got a running list accumulating in his head as his kids turn one, turn two, turn three.

Like Charlie, Liam is blonde, lithe, and short. He’s everywhere, all the time, boundless energy carrying him upstairs and downstairs, poking his head into every crevice, determined to know his surroundings.

Unlike Charlie, as soon as he can string together short sentences, he begins to hate playing with simple toys, preferring to pull (or smash) things apart in an effort to see the pieces that comprise them - mostly electronics, like Steve’s old laptop or the various remote controls around the house, (although on one memorable occasion, it was a beehive). Either that, or he settles for banging things together, the noise soothing him in some incomprehensible way.

Like Charlie, Charles is a mellow kid, always happy and smiling, not prone to temper tantrums or hissy fits the way Liam is. He’s also shy, but incredibly sweet and thoughtful, and he has a habit of silently appearing behind people to lend a hand.

Unlike Charlie, he’s a lot more subdued and quiet, preferring to curl into the couch cushions with a book in his lap. Loud noises frighten him and the ocean frequently keeps him up at night. And, as far as looks, he’s the boy version of Grace when she was his age, with big brown eyes beneath dark brown bangs. 

Blessedly, both boys are perfectly healthy.

That, and they’re being raised under Steve and Danny’s influence right from the beginning. Which means that they mutually pick up Danny’s snark and Steve’s adventurous spirit. 

Danny loves his family, loves both boys as much as he loved Charlie, but he’s still got that goddamn list stuck in his head. He’s not keeping it on purpose. But, reflexively, without his permission, each time he notices something new about his either of the boys, it ends up on his list. 

Oh, Liam likes carrots? In that case, it goes under the  _ Like Charlie _ column. 

Charles hates Saturday morning cartoons? That’s  _ Unlike Charlie _ . 

The boys prefer the ocean to the beach?  _ Like Charlie _ . 

They spit out shaved ice and complain it’s too cold?  _ Unlike Charlie _ . 

It feels like a part of Danny is always at odds with his “right now” - living in the past, making invalid and unfair comparisons, reminding him of a life he’s mostly at peace with having lost. And that part of him is exhausted. He wants to throw that part of him away.

He’s gotten over everything else. 

Delano is a distant, unpleasant memory.

He’s accepted that his future is uncertain. Doesn’t blink when new cases cross his desk and tries not to be jarred or make too many assumptions when a case looks familiar.

Doris is now his official mother-in-law and sometimes confidante. They’ve had almost as many bonding moments as she and Steve have. 

So, why, after all these years, is he still struggling with this? Yes, it was always going to be the hardest of his issues to deal with. BUT IT’S BEEN YEARS! 

Steve appears out of the blue (literally, he must’ve just come out of the ocean with how wet his skin is), and presses flush against his back. His  _ clothed _ back. If it weren’t the weekend, Danny would throttle him. “You look frustrated,” he says, nuzzling behind Danny’s ear.

“Only with myself.”

Steve doesn’t have to think hard to guess why. “Charlie?” he asks, fingers kneading into Danny’s shoulders, massaging deep. 

With a sigh, Danny goes back to drying dishes. 

“How long has this been causing you stress?”

Danny scoffs. “Since they were born. Which isn’t fair to them. If I could stop making comparisons between them and Charlie, if those thoughts could be banished, I would do it in a heartbeat.”

“Have you mentioned the problem at your monthly therapy sessions?”

“You should know - you come with me to at least half of them,” Danny snaps, migraine starting to form.

Too perceptive to take it personally, Steve just shifts his hands to Danny’s temples and keeps massaging. Thumbs chasing away the wrinkles in his brow. “I’ve heard some of it, but I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned how you’ve been spinning it so that Dr. Sycamore doesn’t throw you in the locked ward of a medical facility.”

“The story I’ve been telling is that I lost my son.” Danny laughs darkly. “As if I misplaced him in a junk drawer or got separated from him at the grocery store. You can find the things you lose.” His hands clench. “I figured Sycamore would be able to understand it better if I phrased it as grief for a dead child. I thought it was close enough, but... What if he doesn’t exist anymore?”

There’s not much Steve can do but hold tighter. Wrap his arms fully around Danny like a muscle-bound blanket. There’re quiet for a little while - two officers at a sink on one of the quietest nights in recent history.

Disturbing that silence with a whisper, Steve eventually asks, “If you were to wake up tomorrow in your old life, in your own house, with kids a little older than they were when you left, do you think you’d feel - ”

Spooked, Danny whirls around and clamps a hand over Steve’s mouth. “Shut up! Don’t even say that!” For all that he’s not religious, Danny still crosses himself like his Nanna taught him so very long ago. “Don’t mention it! Don’t joke about it! Don’t even contemplate the possibility!”

Eyebrows high with surprise, Steve raises his hands in that stupid, calming-the-spooked-horse gesture. “Okay, I won’t mention it again. Can I ask why, though?”

Danny gapes at him, because the answer should be self-evident. 

“Steven,  _ babe _ , I still don’t know how I got here or why. I don’t know if there’s an expiration date or not. But, at the very least, I don’t want to tempt fate.I just...it’s not even that I can’t accept that Charlie’s gone. I just don’t want to spend the rest of my life comparing my kids the way I have been.” 

Steve hums a thoughtful note. “Is it bad? Comparing kids to each other?” 

Um...what? 

“I mean, you shouldn’t forget Charlie. He was as real as the whole of your old life. Maybe he’s still out there, in an alternate universe, or on the other side of a dream. But wherever he is, you shouldn’t forget him.”

“I’m not trying to!” Danny argues, defensively.

“Then what’s wrong with comparing him to Liam and Charles? If you’re not foisting expectations on the boys because they look or act like Charlie, if you love them and recognize Liam and Charles as individuals separate from Charlie, I don’t see the harm in comparing them.”

It’s not unreasonable advice. But part of him resists. Danny hasn’t really considered embracing his old life, his old kids, as a way to progress forward. For some reason, it never seemed like an option. Conflicted, Danny tries to go back to drying.

“Nope.” Steve tugs on his shoulders and pulls him away. Not just from the sink, but out onto the lanai, and then onto the beach. 

“I don’t want to go on a walk!”

“What you want and what you need can sometimes be two different things,” Steve says, pulling him along, arms linked together. 

They traverse a few lengths of the beach in silence. 

It doesn’t last long. Just enough for Danny to think through Steve’s suggestion, weighing the possible implications and impacts on Charles and Liam. As far as he can tell, there shouldn’t be any. He loves his sons. Missing Charlie doesn’t change that. 

Intuiting Danny’s approach towards acceptance, Steve asks if he’s reached a conclusion.

“It’s going to take time, but I’ll try to stop feeling guilty over making the comparison.”

“There is no try,” Steve imitates Yoda’s voice. “Do, or do not.” 

“Oh, really? Because I seem to remember a lot more trying and a lot less doing in your last budget review with the governor. You said you’d  _ try _ to use less bullets,  _ try _ to requisition fewer guns,  _ try _ to limit your use of explosive,  _ try _ to decrease -“

Steve shuts him up with the kind of kiss that has memory-erasing properties. 

  
  
  


A week later, Steve (and Danny, by default) is hosting a beach-side barbeque. So many of their friends and family are here. 

Danny’s parents and siblings (including Matt, who’s back on Wall Street, despite his transgressions), Doris, Mary and baby Joan, who cries a lot more than Danny remembers, Kono, Chin, Max, and Kamekona, Catherine on shore leave, as well as Rachel, Stan, and the kids. Hell, even Toast stops by, a little baked (but not deep-fried) to scarf down a veggie burger and shoot the shit.

It’s heartwarming to see them all interacting with one another.

Kamekona, Grace, and Toast are engaged in an intense game of poker. The stakes? Winner gets to demand an embarrassing performance of the other two players. As far as Danny can tell, Grace is winning, and that twinkle in her eye spells unfortunate news for her competition. 

With deck chairs arranged on the edge of the beach, Rachel and Catherine are engaged in some intense discussion that leaves them cackling and guffawing at regular intervals. 

Beneath the palm trees, Stan and Chin are bonding over meditation poses, trying different variations together and discussing their merits. 

Kono and Steve are out on their surfboards, mostly bobbing along with the low-level rock of the tide and occasionally paddle-racing each other parallel to the shore. 

Manning the grill, Doris is turning skewers of roasted vegetables while keeping an eye on the steaks and tofudogs. Matt’s keeping her company, likely attempting to cajole secret tidbits about Eastern markets he’s thinking of investing in. Eventually, he seems to give up, settling for making outrageously flirtatious remarks that leave Doris doubled over laughing. 

The laughter is loud enough that Bridget misses the return volley Ma’s hit over the makeshift net in the impromptu Williams volleyball match.

Fixing his official referee hat, Max calls the point and tosses the ball to Pops for the next serve. 

Mary and Danny are trying to cheer on opposing teams, the enthusiasm of which may be slightly motivated by a bet, but the three toddlers they’re trying to watch make it difficult. 

Not because they’re misbehaving.

Actually, just the opposite. It’s hard to look away from so high a concentration of innocent, unadulterated cuteness. 

Little Joanie and Charles are concentrating so hard on flipping over pails of wet sand to make their castle, both of them holding either end of a pail turning the heavy load over. It’s sweet to see them working together, but inevitably something goes wrong. 

Joanie’s hand slips and the pail comes crashing down on Charles’s toes. It’s clear he’s going to start wailing any second, just as soon as the shock wears off. 

It takes a lot of effort not to rush to comfort Charles as the first tears stream down, leaving trails in the sun tan lotion, but Danny knows that his reaction will guide his son’s reaction. If he panics, Charles will panic. If he stays calm, Charles will be quicker to calm. The mind is a terrifying control center of a powerful machine. Even with multiple nieces and nephews and three kids (or five, but he tries not to think about the first time around) under his belt, it still amazes Danny how absorbent kids’ minds are. How much they understand the world from the reactions of others.

It hurts, though, to listen to the little hiccups of distress without immediately running over to comfort his kid. 

Liam must agree, because he gives up the game of fetch he’s playing with the neighbor’s dog and zooms over on tiny legs, running the athletic way Steve taught him - for “maximum speed” - and throws his arms around Charles’s neck. “There, there,” he says, over and over, in an imitation of Rachel as he tries to hand Charles sea shells that had previously adorned co-located mounds of sand. 

If only Danny had his phone on him, he’d take a picture of the sight. 

Or, hey! No need. 

Grace wanders over to snap a few pics and even records a short clip. She shows it to Danny and Mary, taking a seat between them in the sand.

“Hey, monkey, how did you make out?” 

“After dinner, Toast and Kamekona are going to have to play act a scene from Titanic. They’re learning their lines now.”

“Oh, score!” Mary and Grace high five. 

Danny ruffles his monkey’s hair as a pang goes through him. The beach is full of their friends and family, but he can’t help the tally in his head of those who are missing. 

Lou isn’t here dispensing his wisdom in salty witticisms and colorful metaphors that make his kids groan in unison. 

Jerry isn’t here posing wild conspiracy theories and his voice won’t rise in a ballad over the sound of the waves when darkness falls.

And, even further out in the future are Junior and Tani and their ridiculous doe-eyed stares. 

Christ, he misses them. Hopes to hell he’ll see them again one day. There’s no telling what Butterfly Effects his changes have caused when it comes to the future. 

What if Lou stays in Chicago?

What if Toast’s presence on the team means they won’t need Jerry?

What if Tani and Junior never join the team? Does it have to be either them or Chin and Kono? 

And then there are the worse “what ifs”. 

Rick Peterson’s sentence has been served. He’s been out for a while. Toast is tracking his movements, making sure history doesn’t repeat itself.

As far as Danny’s been able to influence the situation, he’s tried to ensure Peterson has more to live for. 

Reaching out to the former Kim Peterson and convincing her to let Rick see his son every so often had been an exercise in frustration. For weeks on end, Danny had done his best to convince her that reconnecting with Rick would be beneficial for Cole. 

He made arguments like:

Rejecting the kid’s father might cause self-esteem issues. 

If the two ever cross paths, be it accidentally or by design, Cole could end up unfairly blaming his mother for the separation.

And there’s no one more devoted than a dad who hasn’t seen his kid in forever. It’s a lot of love to miss out on. 

The conversations had been traumatic for Danny, dredging up all the anger, bitterness, and resentment of his divorce and forced separation from Grace until he could afford the outrageous rent prices in Hawaii. 

The only thing that had gotten him through the trying experience with his sanity intact and allowed him to persevere till he got a ‘Yes’ from Kim was Steve. 

The back rubs when he was stressed, the encouragement when he was on the verge of giving up, the support when he was having doubts.

In the end, he’s fairly certain he made the right choice. 

The first time around, Rick had lost everything and that had fueled his obsession with getting even. This time, he has a way back. For all his faults, he’d been a wonderful father. Caring, devoted, always bragging about Cole’s accomplishments, however minor. 

But, assuming it works, that’s just one bad ‘what if’ in a sea of them and you can’t spend your life worrying about things you have no control over, Danny’s well aware. It’s unnatural for him, but he successfully pushes all that from his mind, determined to fully enjoy the beautiful day, surrounded by loved ones.

  
  
  


Later in the evening, when all of them are bundled around a huge campfire, Steve leans into Danny’s side, eyes warm and the sweetest grin gracing his lips. Snaking an arm around Danny’s waist, all he says, in a whisper, is, “Our ohana.”

Danny’s throat tightens and water builds around his tear ducts. Looking around, he realizes that this is what he’d always wanted Steve to have.

Once upon a time, Steve lived and died alone, with few people even aware that it was a possibility. A young man who’d spent most of his life in service of his country and his neighbors. A good citizen, but a lonely man who carried a lot of heartache. 

Steve McGarrett of Right Now will never come close to sharing that fate. 

Doris, Mary, and Steve have been absorbed into the Williams clan, which means constant phone calls, Skype chats, visits from vacationing family, social media updates. It’s hard to find a silent moment between keeping in touch with so many people and the responsibilities of daily life. 

There’s also Steve’s legal right to the kids he’s helping raise. Even if something happens to Danny, he’ll always be their stepfather. There to teach and guide and play.

And, for what it’s worth, he has Danny.

That silent, stoic one-man life is as close to an impossibility as you can get. Whether that’s good or bad depends entirely on Steve. There’s that saying about the danger of assumptions. 

So, nine parts joking and one part serious, Danny says, “You know, babe, you’re never getting out of this.” He waves a hand at their family at large. “For the rest of your life, you’re going to be dealing with these people. You okay with that?” 

Because he knows Danny, he hears the serious part too. With a reproachful tug at Danny’s ear and a kiss on the cheek to soothe it away, Steve says, “If you want to see a desperate man, just try taking it away.” 

Danny scoffs. “As if I’d ever want to see you desperate. And not just you, but  _ any _ version of you. Having gotten to know you twice over, I’m pretty sure I could run into an Evil Steve McGarrett and I still wouldn’t be able to resist befriending him and trying to make him happy.”

With no visible effort, Steve does that quick lift and places Danny in the V of his legs and wraps him into the circle of his arms. “Nope. No more time travel. No alternate universes or other dimensions. You’re staying here. Evil Steve McGarrett can go find his own Danny Williams.”

“You said it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LoL - how upsetting would it have been if ...   
> Danny had woken up in his old life?  
> Danny had woken up in a new reality altogether?  
> If Steve had died doing something super heroic at the end?  
> If Steve had died doing something super mundane at the end? 
> 
> So, I guess, if this ending is boring, is it better knowing all the terrible that didn't happen?

**Author's Note:**

> CONGRATULATIONS TO HAWAII!   
> Apparently the State Senate voted in favor of getting money out of politics for good. Sure, they still need the House, and it's only the first step on a long journey to getting an amendment passed on the federal level, but if it works out for them, they'll be the sixth state. Found out on the Young Turks episode(?) on Youtube today. Apparently, the Wolf-PAC is making headway? 
> 
> Or if things don't work out, think emigrating to Finland is an option?


End file.
